


HEAVEN IS A PLACE

by WeTheWriters



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crusades, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Historically accurate events and places, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mercenary!Joe, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Pre-Canon, Priest!Nicolo, Religion, Slow Burn, The First Crusade, We are very big on research, flirting in the face of danger, very slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 89,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeTheWriters/pseuds/WeTheWriters
Summary: When Nicolo was younger - much younger, or perhaps just less war-worn - he was often told he had a face of an angel. He wondered now, as he did many times before, if that trait was somehow instrumental to his destiny in priesthood, and thus to his becoming what he now was…If he had a face of an angel, then the eyes across from him had to be the eyes of some vengeful god. It had to mean something… He dreamt of those eyes ever since he arrived into this strange, ruthless land - the holiest land. Those eyes must’ve been a premonition, or perhaps a catalyst in their own right…
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 337
Kudos: 486





	1. PREFACE

I am He whom I love,  
and He whom I love is I:  
We are two spirits  
dwelling in one body.  
If thou seest me,  
thou seest Him,  
And if thou seest Him,  
thou seest us both. 

Mansur Al Hallaj


	2. DESTINY

Nicolo

Antioch, May 1098

  
  


When Nicolo was younger - much younger, or perhaps just less war-worn - he was often told he had a face of an angel. He wondered now, as he did many times before, if that trait was somehow instrumental to his destiny in priesthood, and thus to his becoming what he now was…

If he had a face of an angel, then the eyes across from him had to be the eyes of some vengeful god. It had to mean something… He dreamt of those eyes ever since he arrived into this strange, ruthless land - the holiest land. Those eyes must’ve been a premonition, or perhaps a catalyst in their own right…

He was delirious, exhausted from fighting and dying, and watching the death and misery all around him repeat itself endlessly, hopelessly. He wished in this moment that this man would show him a fleeting mercy of death and move on until their inexplicably intertwined fates forced them together again. Nicolo wouldn’t resist, not this time.

Instead, the man - the god or the devil himself, whichever he might be - leaned heavily against a fragment of shattered wall across from him, let out a shallow painful breath and looked.

They were surrounded by the dead now. The fight had moved on, deeper into the city of Antioch, the violence of it reverberating off the very ground they sat upon, the screams of agony and the singing of metal still audible in the distance. Nicolo wished he could make it stop, prayed in a melancholy sort of way that the force of his will alone would be enough to freeze the never-ending carnage in its tracks. But his will was too meagre, and his sword was out of reach, and his throat was hoarse from dust, and he could do nothing. 

The man across from him frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows and his lips parting slightly, as if in indecision. A stray thought crossed Nicolo’s mind, that despite finding himself on the wrong side of this man’s sword more often than he would’ve preferred, despite him being of the people Nicolo was taught to hate, there was no hate left in him, not anymore.

“What is your name?”

This startled him - the sound of a familiar tongue - Greek, if slightly warped with unfamiliar cadences of accent, the sound of the man’s voice, surprisingly mild and pleasant. 

He looked expectant, Nicolo thought, hopeful almost.

He wanted to ask him so many things: what curse had befallen them and why, and what was their destiny now, and who were the two women he dreamed of sometimes alongside this man across from him…

Instead, he muttered: “Nicolo di Genoa.”

The man looked pleased, and the expression made his face warm and kind - another thing Nicolo didn’t think possible. 

“I am Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhhamad ibn al-Kaysani,” he said this fast, touching his fingers to his blood-stained chest, and smiled at the look of immense concentration twisting Nicolo’s features, “Yusuf.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo echoed as the last of his injuries knit themselves together. It was a pleasant feeling, and it was the strangest thing - the shape of that name on his lips, nearly familiar, as if all the names he spoke before were a training for this moment… 

It suited the man, amicable and unpredictable as he was. Nicolo wanted to say it again, study the effect it had on him, but restrained himself. 

Suddenly, he was drowning in memories of the journey that led him here. It came over him like a great flood, drowning out all other thought. The ships that sailed from Bari to Dyrrhachium, the waves lapping at the sides; the men crammed in with their horses and the fever that set in before he came ashore on what felt like the other side of the universe. The long days of passage to Constantinople, swimming in and out of consciousness, with his hands cramming from the death grip he kept on the reigns of his horse to stay in saddle despite the near-unconsciousness. The ache and the sickness, and the camp two days of travel away from the Byzantine Capital. 

It was the scariest night of his life - more terrifying than any battle since, more disconcerting than any distress before - shivering next to the campfire, parched and delirious, clutching the cross around his neck, but not praying, not repenting as he knew even then he should have. 

He understood that he would die that night, and yet Nicolo couldn’t find it in himself to let go. He must’ve been too prideful, too greedy to be embraced by the Lord… He still believed in the Pope’s summon, he still hated with too big a part of his heart. Perhaps, he did pass away in the night - perhaps, this was the hell he so feared - it certainly made him repent and abandon his ways…

It was the first night he dreamt of Yusuf’s eyes, uneasy as that dream was, startling him awake long before dawn. In that very first dream Yusuf al-Kaysani whipped-up his horse, galloping across endless sand-covered plain, the moon high above and the light from a torch he held up dancing in his eyes. He was surrounded, desperate to break away, the calls of invisible predators gaining on him.

Nicolo woke up sure he had a vision of Lucifer - the fallen angel, wrathful and chasing after his very own soul. He finally whispered his frantic prayers and kissed his ornate cross. His fever broke.

He felt those phantom shivers now, deep in his bones.

“What is happening?” He asked in a whisper, unsure of his words.

Yusuf glanced away, in the direction of the ongoing battle.

“The city is lost,” he concluded, “You have taken another away.”

That wasn’t what Nicolo meant of course. He all but forgot about Prince Bohemond’s gamble along with his own part in it. 

" _ You _ have taken another away?" He muttered back, barely loud enough for himself to hear, yet the sound of his voice seemed to grab Yusuf's attention, "There is no  _ 'you' _ anymore, none that I would wish to be a part of."

He didn't know what possessed him to speak those words, he barely dared think them in months leading up to this, surrounded by starving and desperate men. He barely dared admit them in his utmost thoughts, and yet here he was, baring his mind to the man whom he knew not at all, except for the moments his sword pierced Nicolo though.

Despite the havoc in the distance, the silence between them stretched and built, becoming a haven of sorts. Yusuf didn't do or say much other than the deep breaths he took freely now, his own injuries apparently no more, and looked at Nicolo, his eyes slightly narrowed and his lips curled downwards in a scowl. 

If Nicolo wasn’t so focused on their own small secluded world amongst the dead, he would have missed Yusuf muttering, “You may not want to belong anymore, but it’s still the crest of the people who have invaded and killed innocents as they pleased on your chest.”

This made him flinch. Not because the thought hasn’t occurred to Nicolo before - he lived and slept, and breathed that thought, but because the condemnation in Yusuf’s quiet voice was as absolute as in his own blazing thoughts.

“This crest shall be my mark of Cain then?” He asked, part resigned and part afraid, “Am I cursed as he is for my trespasses? And what of you?”

Yusuf had awarded him with yet another silence, though this one felt different from the one before. While Yusuf seemed to consider what Nicolo had said, his hand twitched by his side and something akin to anger flashed on his face. 

“I defend,” Yusuf said, seemingly only able to respond to the last of Nicolo’s thoughtless questions. 

He didn’t say anything more to add to his cause. He didn’t need to. His voice was sharp enough to be considered as deadly as the blade that pierced Nicolo’s skin one too many times.

“And yet we seem to be in the same predicament,” he replied, softly this time, warily, “Again and again we meet, again and again we die, again and again we rise. To the will of whose god? To what end?”

Yusuf looked at him with the same tired eyes Nicolo knew his own to be. His reply, this time was curt and absent-minded, like he had asked himself the same question over and over again, and arrived at the same conclusion. 

“You and I,” he gestured between them, his index and middle fingers combined in what looked like a commonly used wave. “Allah and your god, it’s all the same. I am trying to do some good. Perhaps you should do the same.” 

Yusuf looked to the side then, to the battlefield not too far away - the object of choice presented to Nicolo. Instinctively he followed the man’s gaze, so utterly engrossed in the conversation the world outside of earshot has become but a memory, and then the two collided. 

Somebody had noticed them - a silhouette cut from the night by the blazing fire behind his back. Nicolo saw him turn and then pause, leaning closer, trying to see. He had no time to as much as think whether the intruder was a part of those defending or attacking - all he could do was react.

Instinctively, Nicolo pushed up, searching on the ground for his sword while not taking his eyes off the approaching shadow. 

In the periphery of his vision, something moved with lightning speed - or rather someone. Either Yusuf didn’t see the figure’s advance or his soldier training was far too deeply ingrained in his reflexes, because he mimicked Nicolo’s action in a blink. Except Yusuf’s hand found his own sword much closer - right there at his side. 

Noiselessly and without warning he swung it once in a swift self-contained motion. 

The objective of that flash attack, as it turned out much to Nicolo’s dismay, was Nicolo’s own neck. The pain was sharp and sudden, but it began fading almost at once, draining out of him with the blood, dying the ground a familiar glistening red. 

Nicolo choked on it, and the gurgling sound seemed ugly, obscene to him. With fading awareness, he focused on the crunch of small rocks under heavy boots in the distance. 

His eyes, of their own volition, once again met Yusuf’s gaze and found something undecipherable there. The very last thing before darkness overtook him once again, was Yusuf’s pleasant voice in his ears, ringing apologetically of all things.

“I thought we had a mutual understanding…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We had tons of fun researching and writing this chapter. Let us know what you think and hope you stick around for more ;)


	3. SOMEONE TO STAY

Yusuf

Antioch, May 1098

Yusuf watched the face of the stranger that haunted his nights and then some of his days. Lying there - against a backdrop of scarlet that made the ground beneath their feet into velvet, into silk - Nicolo di Genoa looked peaceful and beautiful, no trace of indecision or unease that dampened his features in a waking state. He must’ve been younger than Yusuf initially thought as well, younger than himself perhaps?

The sound of approaching footsteps broke him out of the reverie just in time to avoid a blade slashing through the air with enough force to take his head clean off his shoulders. Yusuf wondered in passing how he would fare then, as he ducked and let the steel collide with his left shoulder instead, cutting through chain-mail, muscle and sinew, and shattering bones. 

Wincing and grunting, Yusuf swung around, narrowly avoiding the next blow, and came face to face with a bulky, sickly looking man, his face splattered with blood, beaded in sweat and twisted by rage. Yusuf knew that rage, that hatred. He didn’t hesitate. He was better equipped to fight in close quarters, faster and lighter on his feet, his stance more flexible than that of the intruders. He made a quick work of cutting the man down.

And then he cast about, thinking fast. There was an anxious riderless horse across the street, too skinny and fickle to last long... No matter, it would have to do. Yusuf tried calling it over, but it only took a few uncertain steps in his direction. Cursing, he darted into the light, trying to move predictably enough not to scare the animal away, but quickly enough to remain unnoticed. It took him a few minutes to calm it down with quiet words and gentle hands, but Yusuf knew his way around horses well enough. Animals were reliable, predictable, honest - it didn’t take much to care for them.

Slowly he coaxed it over to the secluded alcove where he has left Nicolo’s lifeless body, keeping an eye and an ear out to avoid being ambushed again. Once there, Yusuf gave the horse a second look, this time examining it further. He hoped it would last the journey, or a part of it at the very least, and petted its long neck just below the mane to keep it calm. 

The saddle didn’t provide him with much other than the knowledge of its former owner. It was very similar to Yusuf’s own saddle, but better equipped for battle. It held no saddle bags; he sighed - another purchase they will have to make. 

Briefly, he wondered if Nicolo had any money or valuables. Probably not ones that he would take to war, but considering the state of unconsciousness that the man was in, he could only speculate. 

“Stay,” he muttered to the horse in hushed Arabic and moved over to tend to Nicolo. 

He was heavier than what Yusuf thought, though a lot of his weight had to be the ridiculous armour the invaders insisted on wearing. In such a heat, it would only slow them down. 

With slight effort, he hoisted the man onto the horse and held the reins as tight as he could to keep it from taking off.

He knew the way onwards like the back of his hand by now, eastward through the turbulent city streets, past the thinning battlefield and smaller skirmishes for the Hamidiye tower. Yusuf kept the reins in one hand and his sword in the other, the tension dancing over his skin like fire, making him twitch with anticipation at any unexpected sound. 

He wasn’t used to walking away from the fight - he made himself a name walking into the heat of battle without a drop of concern - a feat that for most men was altogether impossible, and not for the fault of their own. Now he hoped that the young crescent moon high in the sky wouldn’t hinder their hasty retreat, their horse dark enough to blend in with the shadows. 

Yusuf whistled once he was far enough from the commotion for the sound to ring clear in the air, echoing off the close walls. 

“Aftab,” he called in a hushed voice and heard a responding huff and stamping of hooves. 

_ Thank Allah for small blessings.  _

Now that he had his own horse, the saddlebags packed for travel - enough provisions for one, but that’s a worry for later - Yusuf finally felt like he wasn’t grasping at shadows. He walked slowly, more concerned with stealth than speed, until he reached a small door usually hidden in the shade of Hamidiye tower. It stood there unguarded, the guard himself having either joined the battle or escaped, and in the stillness that set over, he finally heard Nicolo gasp for breath.

Yusuf sighed, relieved and momentarily distasteful of the chore he would have to address next, but finally dug in one of the saddlebags for rope. 

Once he was outside the walls, he felt more at ease, but also more lost than he did in the longest time. He scouted the surroundings before giving one last look to the place they were seated at not long ago. The city was ablaze, the plumes of smoke hanging over it like ghosts in the night. He turned away and urged the horses on.

The immediate course of action was travelling east, towards the Asi river, and after he got his bearings using the stars above, Yusuf picked up the pace. He knew the track wouldn’t be the easiest, but following the river’s uneven banks was the safest call to make, as the road was probably infested with deserters from both sides. Yusuf was unable to stay dead, but his resources were just enough for one, and he doubted that anyone desperate enough to attack would leave their belongings behind. 

No less important than that, dying still hurt. 

The sound of flowing water wasn’t far, and he had to dismount his horse for a moment before they could continue. Yusuf took the other horse’s reins and tied them to the back of his own saddle, trying to adjust Nicolo’s position on the horse, so he wouldn’t need to worry about the other man falling. Then he clicked his tongue to urge Aftab on and started descending towards the valley connecting the river and the land above, moving slowly to make it as easy as possible on both the animals and their riders. 

Yusuf thanked Allah for providing them with such a clear night. The light was just enough to pick up on any treacherous rocks or bumps in the way, and before long he found a proper path to walk on. Used to travelling alone, his mind was occupied enough to not notice the hours that passed by - the moon was high enough in the sky to assume it had been a few since they left the fallen city. 

He stopped, both horses huffing in irrigation at the abrupt pause as Yusuf turned to look at Nicolo’s form; he knew it took some time, waking up from the darkness, especially in the beginning, but he didn’t think it would take hours. 

In slight alarm - because what was he to do if the man didn’t wake up again - Yusuf manoeuvred around to look at Nicolo’s face, hanging upside down near the saddle’s stirrups. He didn’t look worse than before - the gash across his neck was all but gone, and he was surely breathing, so why wasn’t he waking up?

Yusuf held his hand against Nicolo’s pulse point in his neck, feeling the rapid cadence that clearly didn’t mean well, even for humans unable to die. From the little light given by the stars and the moon, he could see the man’s chapped lips and deep crescents under his eyes, and suddenly his earlier lethargy made sense. 

Nicolo wasn’t waking up because he was dehydrated, possibly starved too, but that was another later concern.

“Keep breathing,” he spoke to the man in Greek in the hopes that somehow he would hear. 

Yusuf considered his options. He didn’t know the river well enough to know where to go for shelter, but he supposed there had to be some kind of cave or at least a somewhat decent hiding spot in the brush for all of them.

He moved ahead of Aftab once more, leading the horse forward by the reins and making sure to scan every piece of land available. About an hour later, he came across a part of the river slightly concealed from anyone coming from above, and ushered their small caravan there. 

With their backs protected he only had to worry about the way out towards the river. Yusuf made way to Nicolo, taking his body off the horse as gently as he could, and placing him on the earth. 

“Drink,” he demanded in Greek after fetching his waterskin and holding it to his mouth.

Nicolo didn’t show any sign of following his lead, and so Yusuf tilted the waterskin just enough to draw the water to fall on Nicolo’s lips. 

This worked like magic, Nicolo’s mouth pressing to the nozzle and his throat bobbing as he swallowed on pure instinct. Yusuf tried to make sure he drank enough, but slowly so that he wouldn’t choke. 

Even then, it took a while for Nicolo’s eyes to open for a single blink before closing again. It was enough to make his heart slow down its panicked gallop, so Yusuf drank whatever remained of the waterskin and got up to tend to the horses next.

It was still a few hours before dawn and if he rode alone he would’ve continued. As it was, he kept his guard up and hoped that they were far enough from Antioch now to avoid any subsequent misfortune... Regardless, he wasn’t alone. 

He had somebody with him now.

The thought was strangely comforting… Yusuf wondered if loneliness had caught up with him after all, unannounced, but that wasn’t it, he didn’t think. 

Deep in contemplation, he finished watering the horses and left them to graze on coarse grass nearby - Allah knows, the one he picked up at the city street needed it. In the end he wandered back to the makeshift camp and sat by Nicolo’s bound and unconscious body.

The sound of him breathing was somehow soothing as well, like the waves crashing against shore. Yusuf glanced at the man once, and then stared across the river. He had decisions to make.

-

He was nowhere nearer to making up his mind when the sky before him had started to colour with bluish haze. Frustrated and confused he got up - the conflict lay before him like a crooked path, treacherous, with no end destination in sight. Yusuf felt the answers were out there, had to be -  _ dying and living again and again would’ve seemed like a miracle or a curse, did seem so when he was alone, but now that he knew he had found one of the others? _

The saddlebag held his sajjāda, the first thing he made sure to take with him, and he found a decent spot to withdraw it, right by the river. It would have to be enough, as he still needed to wash up before praying. 

Normally, he would take as much time as he could spare, but out in the open with Nicolo unable to defend them should someone come along, he had to try and speed up. 

_ There were more, he knew, or so it seemed, if his dreams were to be trusted. He knew their faces as well as if he’d seen them with his own eyes, like he knew Nicolo’s face both in his mind and in his memory... _

Washing was a methodology; first his hands, then his mouth and nose, scrubbing at the face and moving to his arms and curls at his head, before finishing with his now bare feet. Yusuf carefully walked to the rug, made sure to understand where the light was coming from and calculated his body to face south.

_ Perhaps he needed to find the answers on his own. He glanced at Nicolo for a moment. Well, maybe not on his own entirely... _

When alone, he would say the prayers out loud, but now he decided against it. Prayers were private, and he didn't want to alert anyone to their hiding spot. 

He moved on the rug, his body already accustomed to the ways of it like second nature, whispering the words in his heart instead, his ear listening to the world around them, just in case. It was easier to quiet his mind this way, any decision or doubt, any question that remained unanswered wasn't as important as his prayers.

Nicolo moaned in his sleep, disturbing his concentration. Yusuf listened for a moment, unsure if the interruption was urgent enough to stop, but no other sounds followed. It took another minute until the man grunted again and stirred.

Yusuf looked at him over his shoulder, unsure. Nicolo still didn’t wake, but his face twisted in distress, his mouth becoming a tight pale line and his brow creasing. He moaned more, but quieter, the sounds dying in his throat.

The nightmares plagued Nicolo too, then... Yusuf wondered if they were the same in that regard as well, if by some inexplicable phenomenon they were connected in this other way too. The flashes of his own anxiety seemed to be mirrored on Nicolo’s face.

This was something he never had to worry about travelling alone - somebody else’s well being. He wasn’t sure if he should wake Nicolo or let him get as much rest as possible, and continue as he was. Yusuf did not know what was expected of him, he did not know this man or his customs, and whether he needed the comfort of someone caring long enough to end his misery. Even so, Yusuf’s heart nagged at him as he reminded himself of the many nightmares he had experienced and how - just briefly, before his mind could steel itself - alone and scared he felt upon waking.

He didn’t wish that for anyone.

Yusuf looked again at the sky, the sun slowly making its way to shine, signalling the ending for his disordered prayers... He supposed helping someone in need should prove more important, even if that man for all intents and purposes might still remain his enemy. 

_ Everyone were Allah’s children after all _ , he decided and stood up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one is written and we're editing it as we speak, so keep an eye out. It's gonna have an actual interaction and dialogue, can you believe it! Let us know what you think so far <3  
> ~A&K


	4. THE OTHER SIDE

Yusuf

Asi River, May 1098

He hesitated again before he reached his hand to Nicolo’s shoulder, shaking him in a manner that he hoped would be both gentle and urgent at the same time.

Nicolo startled awake with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes glazed over and lost for a moment before they settled on Yusuf’s face. And then feelings passed over him in fast succession, unguarded and unchecked - confusion, alarm, some vague realisation, followed by a flash of anger...

“Calm down,” Yusuf said, Greek still foreign on his tongue. Despite having a solid grasp on the language, it didn’t come naturally, so he only hoped his intonation would provide the comfort he intended, “You’re safe.” 

He didn’t know how else to explain their situation. He meant Nicolo no harm, despite his precautions, and he wished to cause him no further distress. 

The man spat back something sharp in a language he didn’t know and struggled against his hold. Despite the words leaving his lips in a rush, like a string of curses, they sounded almost musical to Yusuf, as if Nicolo’s voice itself was an instrument for this new unknown tongue. 

Perhaps it was a natural outcome of long travels and his good ear for languages, or maybe a combination of his will to learn new things and new cultures that led him to know a few more tongues than was necessary to make do. He would, on occasion, take the time to learn as little or as much as fellow travellers or foreign employers were willing to teach him. For the moment, however, he didn’t think Nicolo would be charitable enough to give him a lesson, scowling and struggling against the bindings as he was.

“I apologise,” Yusuf said, referring to the rope. “You tried to kill me.”

Nicolo went still, although his expression hasn’t softened.

“If memory serves me, it was you who killed me,” he replied, “Twice.”

He was scared, Yusuf realised. Wary of capture, as would be natural for creatures such as they were, undying. It was a very particular flavour of fear, one he understood, one he tasted often on his tongue - the very same fear that led him to always prepare for his good fortunes to run out. 

“Yes,” Yusuf yielded, “After you have raised your sword against me.” 

He felt before like he would be satisfied with having the upper hand, but right now it seemed extremely unkind to look at Nicolo like that, a prisoner rather than a rival.

Something changed in Nicolo’s expression - comprehension, he thought, before the man resigned. 

“I don’t know if I did,” he breathed, as if testing whether the words would ring true once outside of his thoughts, “I don’t know if I’d raise it against you.”

This caught Yusuf off guard - not only the words, which sounded honest to his ears - the way Nicolo spoke all of his mind - genuinely, unguardedly. He looked somewhat ashamed by the realisation as well, guilty for it.

Not for the first time, Yusuf’s heart and mind refused to reconcile. Whatever guilt Nicolo was feeling, Yusuf felt his own. His mind was trying to reassure him that he was, indeed, being rational keeping the rope tied around his hands. If the previous night was anything to go by, he had to be careful. 

Once again, he reminded himself that he did not know this man, and it could all be a ploy to appeal to his kindness. His heart doubted it, but Yusuf bore it no mind. 

“That may be so,” he offered, “But I have no proof, save for your words.”

Nicolo looked away, disconcerted, breathing out sharply through his nose and shutting his eyes for a moment, like he was in pain. He didn’t seem to have an inkling to argue the point further though, as if he didn’t think his will mattered, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s been forced into something as abhorrent... 

“So I am to be your prisoner,” he granted, “ You cannot kill me. What will you do with me?”

Yusuf cast aside his musings of the man. This was an opportunity - he summarised for himself - for him to act as humanely as possible to Nicolo. The question reminded him of his own indecision a mere hour ago however, and he looked sideways at the prayer rug before settling his gaze once again on Nicolo.

“We must make sense of this,” Yusuf said, the decision to include the man as much as possible felt appropriate, though he would keep some things to himself. His father did teach him the importance of hedging one’s bets.

“I know someone in Damascus, perhaps he’s heard of such blessings.”

This made Nicolo chuckle, although the expression on his face looked more as a grimace than a smile. 

“Blessings?” He repeated, “Where I came from such blessings are given to the witches and the sinners by the devil.”

“Where you come from sounds terribly hopeless,” Yusuf said, an argument he thought of before, “People don’t die and wake again and again for no reason. We must find the purpose it gives us. Surely even you can agree on that?”

This seemed to be his turn to catch Nicolo by surprise. The man stared at him, yes wide and impossibly green, like a blossom of grass in a winter desert.

“A purpose?” he echoed hoarsely, “I had a purpose once, a calling, or so I believed. Be wary of purpose, my friend, for men make quick use of those led forth by good intentions.”

Yusuf believed blessings and miracles came in many ways, and was taught to look for them in any path he took. The endearment of friendship with a man he was supposed to kill and failed - not for the lack of trying - wasn’t one of them. It seemed heedless to point it out to Nicolo however, bound as he was, but Yusuf accepted it gladly nonetheless. 

He pondered the rest of what the man had said, finding it difficult to not want to explain himself further. Still, he didn’t think Nicolo would welcome it, so instead he challenged him.

“Men make quick use of those, yes, but this is not other men that make use of us here, isn’t it?”

Nicolo laughed again, more self-deprecatingly this time.

“Forgive me if I have trouble seeing it from where I stand,” he nodded at his bindings again, “So what is the way to this Damascus?”

“The city,” Yusuf spoke to the question he thought he heard in Nicolo’s words, “We go south, following the river and past the mountains.” 

He didn’t say the journey would be extremely difficult on both of them, didn’t speak a word of the time or the terrain, but hoped it was evident in his expression. Getting to Damascus wasn’t the biggest issue after all, since they didn’t die. He needed to form a plan on why he would travel with an invader, for when they finally reached their destination.

“We will need to make sure you blend in. Damascus is very religious nowadays.”

“Are chains too subtle then?” Nicolo wondered, frowning in thought. This frown made Yusuf wistful of his sleeping serenity, there was no trace of it left anymore.

“You’re right, perhaps I should find us a market that sells an outfit with a bigger cross on it,” Yusuf huffed excruciatingly slow, like the thought of it made him suffer. He looked at Nicolo, checking for any traces of insult before he opened his mouth again to give a better explanation, “A chained prisoner is not much to look at, but your armour wouldn’t make them do anything less than run you through with their sword. Or stone you. Or maybe both.”

“All of which I could very well walk away from,” Nicolo noted, Yusuf was sure just to toy with his temper, “I see your point, however. Regardless, I have no use for this armour anymore. Were you to let me go, I wouldn’t wish to return, so do with it as you will.”

The abandon with which he said those words pleased Yusuf, but his mind once again overruled his heart when it came to believing this man. In the world set ablaze with war, filled with mindless devotees, mercenaries such as himself, and everyone in between, actions always spoke louder than words, and he wouldn’t let Nicolo free with the slightest chance of being killed by him again. 

“Off with the ridiculous armour, then, we shall leave it behind, with those you claim to forsake.”

Something passed over Nicolo’s face, akin to hesitation he seemed unsure of voicing.

“Although,” he began and trailed off.

Yusuf tried to make sense of the trepidation in his voice or the change in his expression. Had he been mistaken in wanting to believe Nicolo?

“What is it?” He asked, ridding his voice of any and all emotion.

“The sword I carry. I would hate to be parted with it,” the man responded, seemingly reluctant to admit the attachment, “My father gave it to me as I was leaving home...”

Yusuf was able to recognise the notion. He himself had quite a connection to his own scimitar; while it wasn’t given to him, per se, it had been with him since he was able to properly hold a weapon. 

He nodded then, firmly bent on humouring Nicolo. 

“I shall keep your sword,” he said. “I assure you, it will be safe with me.”

Nicolo’s head snapped up so fast, it startled Yusuf for a second, before the other man’s expression made sense to him. Gratitude, surprise.

“You would do that?”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock that Nicolo would consider this a kindness. Yusuf didn’t hear in person the teachings the invaders had been forced to learn, never experienced the hate spilled into their core for a cause that justified the murder of innocents... But he did hear the men at his camp talk about such things. 

Never being one for idle gossip, Yusuf didn’t engage, but that didn’t mean he didn’t listen when they spoke on how Nicolo’s people - no, not his people anymore, his heart supplied - saw Yusuf and any other man, woman and child who chose to believe differently. 

“I am not what they have made of me,” he said slowly, exercising all his restraint and pouring all of his good will into the words. “Most of us aren’t these barbaric creatures they would want you to believe we are. Some are, but that’s how it is everywhere in the world. There’s good and bad anywhere people are.”

Nicolo stared at him for the longest time, searching his eyes so intently Yusuf felt like he would read his very thoughts. In the end, with whatever knowledge he acquired so, Nicolo smiled - a single soft and fleeting smile, that only for a moment reached his eyes before fading away, overshadowed with worries.

“I appreciate this kindness,” was his response, “I only hope I get to repay you one day.”

“You can repay by not killing me,” Yusuf said lightheartedly. He knew this is a difficult subject, one that he would once again want to talk more on, but not now. Perhaps when they are safe. If that would ever be the case.

He gestured to Nicolo’s clothes before talking next. “We will have to move out soon,” he trailed off, not entirely sure on how to proceed. With his wrist tied together, it was entirely impossible for the man to undress.

“Perhaps, I can repay you right away then,” Nicolo smirked, “Unless you’d like to chop me up and assemble me outside of this cursed chainmail.”

“Tempting.” Yusuf gave him a small smile of his own. “It would make a fine test of our abilities. I never lost a limb so far.” 

He moved Nicolo’s sword far enough away and kneeled next to him, undoing the rope in a way that would make him able to tie it back again.

Nicolo rubbed at the sore skin of his forearms and moved his hands in the air to get rid of the stiffness as soon as the bindings fell away, but that was the extent of his rebellion. Yusuf watched him closely regardless.

With weak fingers the man unwrapped and undid his belts, and attempted to rise enough to remove his tunic, but his legs momentarily gave way, making him stagger. Yusuf clicked his tongue and hurried to steady Nicolo. 

Whether it was the swiftness of his movements or the constant alert of being killed that made Nicolo go rigid the moment Yusuf reached out, he didn’t know. He made sure to be as considerate as possible and help when he could. He could not, however, not comment on Nicolo’s state, which was probably worse than that of the horse he found. 

“Did they not give you food and water when you fought?” Yusuf wondered out loud. He had meant to tell Nicolo he had been severely dehydrated, but the word in Greek wasn’t something he was familiar with, so he chose another way around it.

“The water from the river made men sick. We tried to drink as rarely as possible.”

With Yusuf hovering over him, Nicolo bunched the hem of his tunic in his fists and hoisted it up over his head. It caught on a few tears in his chainmail, but before Yusuf could free him, Nicolo just ripped it away. The fabric was so threadbare that even in his weakened state he managed as much. 

Next came the chainmail, thicker and heavier than Yusuf first estimated it to be. Without its weight Nicolo would be but a ghost. And surely, as he helped the man be rid of it, his shirt rode up on his back revealing spines that protruded like thorns from a dried bush. Yusuf wondered how they didn’t pierce Nicolo’s skin, so white and tender-looking it seemed more like silk than skin at all. 

“As for food,” he continued, breathless now, falling heavily back on the ground and drawing his knees up, to rest his elbows on them, “Our Princes timed the siege poorly, you see. The food was very scarce throughout the winter months, and as I am not as prone to dying as other men, I tried my best to not deprive them of what they needed more than I.”

Yusuf could not believe his ears. 

He never considered himself to be a particularly selfish man, but he preferred to avoid suffering if it was possible. Subjecting himself to hunger simply because he could not die seemed like devotion none of Nicolo’s fellow brothers in arms deserved. 

Perhaps he had been lecturing the wrong man after all. 

“When last have you eaten?” He asked. 

It didn’t have to be spelled out, Yusuf could tell by the way the man’s bones lay bare and from the soft yellowish shade below his eyes. He wanted to hear though, just to assure himself that maybe Nicolo wasn’t as bad as he thought.

He had to think about it.

“Well, since the start of the spring the provisions got better,” he offered as an excuse, “So yesterday? Or the day before?”

The questioning tone of his words didn’t do anything to put Yusuf’s mind at ease. It was rare for him to have no words, but he also never encountered anyone quite like Nicolo di Genoa. Instead of a response, he collected the discarded clothes and pieces of armour and threw them out as close to the inner wall of the overhanging cliff as possible.

They would have to stop somewhere to get supplies, the rations he had could only last two days, and that’s if Yusuf was by himself...

Next he went to the saddlebag, took out a few dried pieces of dates and a piece of bread. He handed those to Nicolo, although he found himself wishing he could offer him more. 

“We’ll ride out when you finish eating,” he muttered, suddenly very tired.

It took him until Nicolo stood up on unsteady feet to remember that the rope was still tucked in his belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos for interaction? We're having so much fun with this and we're already a few chapters ahead of schedule so expect an update soon! Let us know what you think - your comments absolutely give us life <3  
> ~A&K


	5. HOLY GROUND

Nicolo

Asi River, May 1098

  
  
  


Nicolo felt lightheaded. His stomach was fuller than it had been in weeks, months maybe, but still too hollow for comfort. He had more sleep too - he hasn’t been able to rest since Prince Bohemond voiced his plan to capture Antioch in the night. 

He also felt naked, unprotected. His shirt, no longer white after months of travel, lay loose on his boney shoulders, leaving the golden cross around his neck out in the open, for all the world to see. The sunlight glanced off it, blinding him for a moment as he walked over to Yusuf where he was packing up an ornate, intricately woven rug into a saddlebag strapped to one of the horses. 

Nicolo lifted his anewly bound hands to the other horse, running his fingers through its wispy sun-warmed mane.

“What’re their names?” He asked Yusuf softly, his tone soothing for the animals’ sake. 

Yusuf turned to look at him, intrigue filling his face. He hesitated just slightly before answering. 

“Aftab,” he caressed the light stallion holding his own supplies. 

Then he looked thoughtfully to the horse Nicolo stood by. 

“This one is new. He has no name, so far,” he paused then, regarding the horse and Nicolo at the same time, “Hilal is a fine name, if you would choose to name him as something of this land.”

“Hilal,” Nicolo repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with unexpected ease. The horse huffed in a manner that he considered appreciative enough. “He is of this land - I shall honour that as much as I can going forward. In all matters. Although, I would need someone to guide me in my ways.”

He didn’t want to make it into a question per se, still taken off guard by Yusuf’s seemingly never-ending courtesies. This was important though, worthy of testing the man’s patience. 

Yusuf was just in the middle of readjusting the strap holding the saddle together. It was similar to the saddles used by the crusaders in that aspect. 

“What would you expect of a guide for your ways?” He had inquired amicably, his feet dragging over the shore of water as he made his way to Nicolo’s horse, probably to do the same to the saddle seeing as Nicolo’s hands weren’t able to do much for the moment.

As he came closer, the glare off Nicolo’s cross flashed across his face, making Yusuf cover his eyes.

“Knowledge and patience,” he mused, finding himself yet again suppressing a smile, “I, of course, shall offer anything I can in return.”

Yusuf seemed to consider something. 

They may have barely known each other, but Nicolo could see he was bothered and has already gotten a distinct feeling that Yusuf was not the type to keep things to himself. He didn’t push.

Surely enough, the man spoke after a beat of silence. 

“Why must your faith ask you to show it by jewellery?”

Nicolo thought about it, the thin chain across his neck suddenly impossibly heavy, digging into his skin and weighing him down, the small intricate piece of metal beaded on it - hot as a brand. 

On an impulse that hasn’t left him entirely sane, he wrapped his fingers around it and tugged until the chain snapped free. Then he tossed it to Yusuf - the cross shining like a falling star for a second until the man’s nimble fingers plucked it from the air.

Yusuf’s hand seemed to move on its own accord, functioning on instinct more than anything else. His expression, though, remained momentarily blank. As he felt the necklace with his fingers, however, a slightly befuddled look crossed his face. 

“Why would you do such a thing?” He asked, incredulousness seeping into his usually pleasant tone.

“Sell it if you think it would fetch a price on one of your markets,” Nicolo shrugged, his voice lighter than he expected it to be, “If not, leave it with my armour, I have no wish to carry it anymore.”

“Doesn’t it belong to your god?” Yusuf’s eyebrows knit in an effort to comprehend.

This made Nicolo pause, a frown of his own clouding his features. 

The cross was a relic in its own right, an heirloom that Odon de Lagery, soon to be Pope Urban II, christened him with at his father’s request. It was a brand that marked him from birth, the brand Nicolo never thought he could be rid of... 

“This  _ thing _ has nothing to do with God,” he muttered slowly, the thoughts for those words forming just moments before leaving his mouth, “Not anymore. The only thing it has anything to do with is the church...”

Thinking of the church, the hypocrisy, the pettiness and malice, and greed - and then the Pope whom he once worshipped along with everybody else, the Pope who called upon them claiming God’s will, and instead rose hell for all parties involved…

Nicolo cursed them all soundly in Italian, with words he wouldn’t even know in Greek.

The sound of Yusuf’s quiet chuckle was what drew him back to the present. He seemed to have taken in everything Nicolo had to say, and was smiling wickedly at his outburst. 

“Your language is quite colourful,” he commented, “Though I must attest that I’m more used to having these words directed at me.”

Nicolo laughed, once, more in surprise than anything else, his anger and bitterness draining away as quickly as they took over him.

Yusuf turned the cross over in his fingers for a bit, and in his hands it suddenly seemed powerless - just a trinket for superstitious fools… He hummed quietly to himself and then raised his gaze to look at Nicolo again, this time with decisiveness. 

“Faith is what you make of it,” he offered, “It’s not an object or a place or a person... it’s here,” Yusuf put his other hand on his heart, then his eyes and his head. “God is everywhere in these lands and all the rest of the lands.”

The holy ground was where they stood... It seemed they agreed on yet another point, that was told to be irreconcilable between their peoples…

“The goodness in the hearts of men,” Nicolo nodded to himself.

“As for your request, knowledge and patience requires faith and trust,” Yusuf concluded, suddenly businesslike, tucking the cross away and making sure the strap of the saddle was tight enough so that Nicolo wouldn’t fall and loose enough for the horse - Hilal, now - to be able to breathe freely. “What would you offer the guide for such a feat?”

He took one look at Nicolo, judging his height, and turned once again to the saddle, this time to fix the stirrup on their side until it was the lowest it can be. The gesture was clear: Nicolo would need help to get into the seat.

“What would a guide in this land ask for?” He questioned, just as playfully serious. He had nothing more to give and they were both aware of it. 

“Put your hands here,” Yusuf instructed, for a moment interrupting their conversation. He tapped the pommel in an indication of his previous words. 

Nicolo did as asked, holding the part of the saddle with both of his hands, unable to do much else as he was bound. 

“Now your leg here, and I will boost you up,” Yusuf said. His tone was casual, as if nothing made more sense than to offer his prisoner assistance. 

Nicolo supposed that his helplessness was to Yusuf his own doing more than the fault of Nicolo alone, but he appreciated the consideration nonetheless. He doubted his folk would treat Yusuf’s brethren with the same generosity and respect. 

Once again, he did as was asked, hoisting his left leg into the stirrup. Yusuf didn’t hesitate as he put all of his weight into the back of Nicolo’s thigh, just above the knee. With more help than he cared to admit, Nicolo was seated as firmly as he could in the saddle. Hilal moved his head backwards to nuzzle at Nicolo’s other leg outside of the stirrup, that only caused Nicolo to smile and stroke his neck as far as he was able. 

“Perhaps, from someone with little to offer, a guide in this land might ask the same thing in return,” Yusuf said, his hands quickly working on adjusting the stirrup on Nicolo’s left leg to fit more comfortably. He moved behind the horse, his hand on its rear to show he was there, and started to do the same with the other stirrup when he spoke again. “Knowledge and patience, I mean.”

He tried to reign in his surprise this time, seeing at last how it spoke to his own prejudice and so often offended Yusuf. Instead, Nicolo watched him for a minute, either too focused on finishing his preparations for the road or considerate enough to allow Nicolo time to make a decision. 

Yusuf was careful - no not even that - there was an air of gentleness about everything the man did that touched a string in his heart. He was also skilled and knowledgeable, and matter-of-fact - all things Nicolo considered a virtue. But there was something more, something he failed to grasp, that intrigued him and drew him in...

“I suppose it would make a fair trade,” Nicolo spoke at last, his voice a little thick despite his efforts, “I could do worse. I have done worse!” He breathed and laughed at himself a little. 

“The past is the past,” Yusuf said, looking up at Nicolo to flash a smile. It was the most honest smile he had gotten from him so far. 

It made him wonder if the man had said that for Nicolo’s benefit or for his own though...

“We still have a few hours before midday,” Yusuf said as he moved closer to Aftab. He secured his saddle bag and Nicolo’s sword to the saddle itself, and took Hilal’s reins to hold as he climbed on. “There should be more safe places like this one along the way, and we’ll rest until it cools down a bit.”

_

  
  


Yusuf had been right in his assumption. Over the course of the next day and a half, they have managed to find a fair few more rather secluded spots to camp at.

The path hadn’t been as easy as walking a tracked road, especially not when Yusuf was the one with full control of Nicolo’s horse, but after a while he got used to the bumps in the way and the sound of the water rushing by. They made stops four more times before Yusuf directed them out into the open road, and each time they had set up camp Nicolo took note of everything Yusuf was doing. He asked the man so many questions, that it began to seem as though Yusuf had endless patience, and more often than not, his mundane curiosities set the course for their conversation to move on to the more profound differences in their customs. Nicolo had always enjoyed learning new things, and Yusuf had indulged him in anything from how to properly boil river water for drinking to how to find edible plants and roots from the sparse selection at hand. 

He didn’t cease to wonder how Yusuf’s people made a living off such barren land, and how resourceful and imaginative it made them. He quite thought that even after days worth of observing Yusuf and learning from him, Nicolo wouldn’t last very long on his own, even unbound.

Yusuf, in turn, had asked Nicolo of his own ways. It had started with simple jokes and teasing to lighten the conversation - asking him to say certain things in Italian or making him explain the nature and the weather of his home land - but once Yusuf got him talking, the attention he paid Nicolo never wavered. 

By the time they left the comfort and security of the river, Nicolo felt much more at ease around Yusuf, especially when he treated with such care and respect all the things that Nicolo thought and said. 

Under Yusuf’s close guidance, Nicolo felt confident at least navigating the terrain until they reached the outskirts of the town - Hama, Yusuf had said it was called - to replenish their supplies for the journey to Damascus. The night had already fallen by the time the somewhat scattered shape of it appeared on the horizon, and the lights of the city looked like a constellation to Nicolo’s eyes. It didn’t seem to be as large as Antioch, and didn’t have solid walls of it’s own either. Yusuf had explained that it was a merchant town, known for being a checkpoint in the travel between Damascus and Antioch, and while it was well populated, it was also notorious for thieves and charlatans. 

“We will set camp outside,” Yusuf told him, as he clicked his heels to Aftab’s sides, urging him and Hilal in turn to leave the main road to the city behind.

As since they left the trail of the river, the terrain was very flat and mostly bare, but Yusuf had managed to find them a spot near a ruin of an old building that once again left only one side of them exposed. 

As at the first resting spot they had taken back near Asi, he suggested they take turns keeping watch. Nicolo had laughed then, saying he wouldn’t be able to help much should someone come along, but Yusuf only smiled and let him know - as if he hadn’t already - that Nicolo couldn’t die and thus all he had to do was wake Yusuf up before they were both slaughtered in the night.

Yusuf slept surprisingly soundly under Nicolo’s watch, even that first night, his fingers splayed loose over two sheathed swords. Nicolo thought that if he was quiet and clever about it, with some luck he might’ve gotten a hold of his weapon without Yusuf realising as much, but that was but an idle thought. He had no intention of causing the man any harm, and safe for the ropes tying his wrists, Nicolo was more comfortable and calm than he could remember. Something about being around Yusuf al Kaysani was soothing to the soul. He wondered what it would mean to be the man’s companion, his friend even, if this was how being his prisoner proved to be…

By now, however, the routine of setting camp and building a fire, and tending to the horses was familiar enough. Nicolo took over the chores he could manage well enough on his own, and Yusuf never said a word against or about it. It felt right somehow - peaceful - working side by side like that, never getting in each other’s way, even helping out on occasion. It came as easy as breathing, as natural as if they’ve been travelling together for years.

Once Yusuf finished with his duties, he usually went a little way away to pray, rolling out his rug by the bags and the saddles. Nicolo watched him from the fireside, as mesmerised as the first time, the ethereal concentration Yusuf gave to it, something dance-like in the way he first stood, then bowed and kneeled on the rug, his body arching up and down in silent prayer.

At first, he didn’t mean to watch quite as blatantly, tried to grant the man space and respect that Nicolo himself would’ve wanted in order to speak to God, but the way Yusuf prayed fascinated him. He wanted to ask so many times, but could never find the words, letting himself be drawn into some subject or the other of Yusuf’s choosing instead. 

It looked very mysterious, magical even, in a sense he would’ve once deemed condemnable. Now, he was simply in awe... 

When Yusuf returned he always sat across from Nicolo, with the fire crackling between them, the reflections of it dancing in the man’s eyes like small suns, and looked very tranquil and aware of the world around. Nicolo was only aware of the feeling radiating off Yusuf, their surroundings dull by comparison.

“In Antioch,” Yusuf started slowly, probably translating the words in his mind first. “You called your crest the Mark of Cain... What did you mean by that?”

It was an easy question, sure, but the way Yusuf voiced it made it seem almost rehearsed.

Nicolo wondered if the man had meant to ask this before and didn’t know how, or whether he should. This made Nicolo suddenly indulgent, fond of the other, equal parts overt and mystifying. It was for the best, perhaps, that curiosity often won with the two of them. Yusuf looked on with anticipation through the trembling strands of smoke.

“It’s a tale from the Bible,” Nicolo began, choosing the words to be a warning in their own right, if Yusuf decided against quenching his curiosity after all. He didn’t seem perturbed, so Nicolo continued, “Cain and Abel were brothers, children of Adam and Eve - the first man and woman created by God,” he explained, “Cain was a farmer and Abel was a shepherd. And for both of them came the time to offer sacrifices to God. Cain brought fruit from the ground and Abel brought the fat from some of the firstborn. God favoured Abel’s sacrifice, but he didn’t extend that same grace to Cain. This rejection made Cain angry. God admonished him to do the right thing and his sacrifice would be accepted. Cain was also warned that if he refused to do the right thing - sin was ready to consume him.”

This took Nicolo back in time, to the days of certainty and unawareness, to the days when he marvelled in his own self-righteousness, preaching the words he had no way of comprehending. He glanced at Yusuf searching his face for traces of boredom or exasperation.

He found none. Once Yusuf realised Nicolo had paused in the story, he leaned forward, taking the time to tend to the fire. When he looked back at Nicolo, his expression turned thoughtful and he hummed. 

“Allah doesn’t speak to no one,” he said. 

Yusuf always seemed to find a way to make any conversation equally beneficial for both of them, so they’ll be able to learn from one another on common ground. With him it was never a competition, a race to see who can absorb more knowledge. 

“Allah only spoke to Muhammad, and his word is the Quran.” 

He gave Nicolo just enough time to ponder over it before he waved his hand, urging him to continue, but just as Nicolo was about to speak, interrupted him again: 

“What would be the right thing in this story? Should Cain have had to find another sacrifice?”

Nicolo smiled at the ambers, holding his hands clumsily out to the warmth. 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, “But Cain disregarded God’s warning. Instead, he took his anger out on his righteous brother, Abel. Cain invited him out into the fields and murdered him. Later God approached Cain about the whereabouts of Abel, but Cain lied, asking whether he was his brother’s keeper? The God is all-knowing, you see, and he wished to appeal to Cain’s remorse, of which he had none. For his sin, Cain was to be driven from his people, no longer able to farm the land, but wander on his own. For the people to not seek their own justice against Cain, and heed to God’s decree, the Lord put a mark upon him. By his mark Cain would not be touched by death, cursed to roam, watching his descendants prosper and live without God, until his legacy led to the destruction of the entire world by the flood.”

It was a morbid tale, and the cool breeze made him shiver, thinking, wondering…

Yusuf was silent for a few more moments after that. He had leaned back on his elbows, the moonlight and fire painting his face in shadows and half-light. 

“Is that how your religion would explain what we are? That our gift of immortality is a mark to pay for our sins?” Yusuf’s wondering wasn’t of judgment, his tone didn’t hold any malice - he was simply curious.

“I asked that question once, before I was to give my first sermon. Whether the tales were to be taken literally,” Nicolo nodded, “I’ve been told that they’re for the flock to believe, and for the shepherd to know the purpose of. To my superiors the moral was simple and straightforward - thou shalt not kill. Except, these morals, just as the verses themselves, were meant for gullible, and in the end had no effect on those claiming holiness. I’ve come to believe that my superiors were not godly people…”

Nicolo rubbed his wrists against each other under the rope, trying to alleviate some of the soreness.

“Although, if every man of my faith who raised his sword against an innocent was punished in this way, your lands would face a greater peril even than they face now.”

Yusuf chuckled at Nicolo's remark. 

"Yes," he laughed out the word rather than said it, "I suppose you are right about that. Although... My mother used to tell me, as a child, that stories are oftentimes mirrors to our own true nature as humans, and as such we must take them as they are - advice words meant to steer you away from ill will."

Nicolo watched him as he spoke, his eyes aglow with reminiscence. Yusuf didn't speak much of his past, he had said one too many times that the past was the past, but now... He was somewhere else, somewhere seemingly unreachable for himself and Nicolo both.

"Do you think often of your home land, of your family? Of the life you left there coming here?" Yusuf asked, his gaze still faraway, tone soft and barely there.

Nicolo let out a slow breath, thinking back on the life he used to have, the life he used to lead, and found he didn’t want to tell Yusuf about it much. It was all tainted with shame and regrets, buried the day he had left, knowing he might not return. In fact, he intended not to, possibly even then…

“I didn’t leave behind much of value, or at least what I’ve come to consider of value,” he admitted in the end, “I hope my father is well, I hope my sisters are happy, I pray they would have peace… But I don’t look back on it with a sore heart, not as you seem to on your past.” Again he made it an observation rather than a question, giving Yusuf a chance to leave it at that if he wished.

Yusuf gazed up at him again, this time with the same indecipherable look that he gave him often enough that Nicolo started to recognise it. He sighed, clearly uneasy, but opened his mouth to speak nonetheless. 

"I am a fourth son," he started, as if this should explain it. "I suppose it is the same everywhere... My father is a merchant, and the family trade inherently went to my oldest brother when he came of age. My path lay somewhere in a small town in Tunis. I never wanted that, so I left to pursue my own destiny, in a way."

He stopped again at the sound of huffs from both horses. They have moved closer, nuzzling each other's backs and shaking out their manes. Yusuf smiled, but didn't lose track of what he started saying.

"My family wished me well, my mother understanding far better than my father that I didn't have a future there. I... I wanted to help people, spread some good. So I became what I am - fighting to defend those who couldn't defend themselves."

“Have you gone to see them after-” Nicolo trailed off, trying to imagine it - the home from which Yusuf came from, the culture and tradition of the small town that couldn’t contain him. In Nicolo’s mind eye it was all blinding.

"No," Yusuf said quickly, his head whipping back to meet Nicolo’s eye. 

He must have thought about it a lot since he left...

"Before," he explained, and Nicolo immediately knew what he meant - before they were reborn for the first time - so he nodded, a sign to continue. "Maybe then, but not now. What would be the point? I will have to tear myself from their lives again. It's better for them to think I don’t look back."

Nicolo nodded again. So they were both detached from the lives they used to know… The thought was almost comforting, except he found himself wishing he could spare Yusuf the ache of it. There was goodness in the man that was unlike anyone Nicolo has ever known.

“Perhaps the good you put into the world would reach them one day,” he mused, feeling inapt and helpless with nothing but his good intentions to show for it. 

Yusuf hummed with a somber smile playing across his lips. 

“Perhaps,” he muttered half-heartedly, “Let’s start with sleep first, yes?” 

Nicolo had to leave it at that, and Yusuf stood up, walking to the horses. He made sure one last time they were well and tied. 

“I will take the first watch,” Yusuf had said, like he did every other night before.

Nicolo watched him settle down, looking out across the plain, the stars over his head like an endless tapestry, and tried to lie down comfortably enough for the sleep to take him. The way his hands were tied, he could only rest on his side, and the wind was chilling even close to fire as he was. He kept his eyes on Yusuf until unconsciousness defeated him after all, his last thought being about destiny and how much it seemed like a tapestry of stars until you wound up on the right side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the journey is coming along, the bonding is happening, the horses are horsing around (can you tell we love horses? XD) Let us know what you think, your comment are absolutely the fuel for our creativity <3 And hope you stick around for more!  
> ~A&K


	6. PIECES

Nicolo

Hama, May 1098

  
  


The last watch right before dawn was Nicolo’s, and he spent it thinking how similar the final few hours of the night were here to what he knew from back home. Maybe the whole world before the new day could begin became quieter, more contained in preparation. It felt like a worldwide sign to him, a moment of tranquillity and readiness that Nicolo wished he could absorb from the air.

A movement from Yusuf’s side of the camp interrupted his musings. Nicolo jumped, his initial thought being that perhaps the man had woken up before Nicolo had the chance to wake him himself. It wasn’t the case; Yusuf’s form was still on the ground by the dying embers, save for his fingers that twitched as his expression changed to a frown. His lips slightly parted in a silent plea. And even though for what, Nicolo didn’t know, he found himself jumping to his feet.

He remembered the first time Yusuf woke him up from a nightmare, and how confused and caught off guard he felt... It was all so different now. Yet, even then Yusuf had meant him no harm, and thus Nicolo would have to be cruel not to return the favour. 

He approached softly, hoping to try and soothe the man, when Yusuf startled him for the second time, jerking up wildly, his hand on his scimitar and his chest rising and falling as his lungs sucked in the air. It took a moment for his eyes to settle on Nicolo, and the sight seemed to put Yusuf at ease. Slowly, he released his grip on his sword, and rubbed his face with his hands, as if to assure himself that he was still there, still himself. 

Nicolo grabbed the waterskin and offered it to Yusuf. The man grunted as he reached out for it, drank deeply and rubbed at his shoulder as if it bothered him.

“Are you well?” Nicolo wondered, concerned. 

Yusuf nodded, his face still twisted in pain. There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him, Nicolo concluded after a quick check-up - all their injuries healed almost as soon as they sustained them. And besides, he watched over the both of them, nothing could’ve actually hurt Yusuf without his notice.

“It’s just a dream,” Yusuf said, probably more to assure himself than Nicolo. “I dream of two women... both fierce warriors. I don’t know where they are, but I know they are the same as us.” He sighed then, using the same two fingers wave he often used when he was referring to the both of them together.

Nicolo settled heavily on the ground next him, staring blankly at nothing in particular, his stomach twisting into knots.

“One of them is very tall, with long dark hair. She’s wielding an axe,” Nicolo mouthed, his words barely audible, “The other smaller, but even more ferocious…”

“You dream of them too?” Yusuf asked, wonder filling his entire being, “I dreamt of the tall one, or maybe that I was her - they were fighting... the land they’re in is very different from here.”

“I dreamt of you before we ever met,” Nicolo admitted, thinking, “Perhaps this is a forewarning, a sign that we will meet them as well.”

He ran the fingers of both of his bound hands through his tangled hair and sighed. The world, peaceful and familiar as it seemed just moments ago, suddenly felt enormous and filled with pitfalls to him. 

“Well, I can only hope they aren’t as eager to run me through with weapons if we do.”

Nicolo didn’t look in Yusuf’s direction when the man spoke, but he heard the humour in his voice and when he raised his head to see at last, Yusuf’s smile was playful just for a moment, before his gaze locked on Nicolo’s hands, something akin to regret on his face.

“Or maybe a sword wouldn’t seem like such a misfortune, once you find yourself on the wrong side of an axe,” he teased back, lowering his hands onto his lap, so that the sight of them wouldn’t weigh on Yusuf.

He knew there would come a day when the man would trust him fully, and for whatever reason wanted it enough to go along with these shallow safeguards. At this point, all of it felt more as an inevitability than anything else.

Yusuf laughed at that, uneasiness quickly alleviating from his posture. He looked at the sky then, just as a distant voice from the general direction of the city called out.

Nicolo turned his attention but saw nothing except for the city lights slowly getting extinguished. When he turned to Yusuf, the man was already on his feet, quickly moving through his morning routine. 

“It’s a Muezzin,” he said when he unrolled his prayer rug. “It’s a man calling from the city’s mosque, holding the prayer so people outside of the mosque would pray as if they were there.”

Before Nicolo was able to answer, there came another call in Arabic, this one more prolonged and when he looked back at Yusuf, the man was already praying. Nicolo smiled at the explanation, watching him from the camp. Yusuf really did not have to indulge him like that, especially when it made him late for his prayers. He had appreciated it though, even more for that very reason probably.

_

“We’ll walk to the town,” Yusuf announced once they finished the last of their remaining bread. He insisted Nicolo would have the dried fruit despite his objections.

The man seemed more hesitant than usual, Nicolo noted, worried even, as he moved to the saddlebags and took out a worn out old cloak. “I think it would be best if we put this on you... I am unsure whether people around here will look too well at a foreigner considering...” he trailed off, looking to the horizon. 

Nicolo could only nod in understanding. Of course he understood; any passerby would be able to tell Nicolo was not of this land - too fair and pale to belong, and what’s worse, they would be quick to connect him to the crusade, tall and strong as he was, even without a crest on his chest. He supposed the cloak would do well to conceal him from a passing glance, but once people were able to take a good look at him…

They would have to risk it, Yusuf wasn’t leaving him behind, and the cloak was the best they could do in their circumstance. Thus, before long they were at the entrance to the town, Yusuf’s hand on his forearm.

“We’ll have to leave the horses here,” he explained, taking the saddle bag and hoisting it over his shoulder before strapping both of their swords to his belt, one on each side. 

It couldn’t have possibly been comfortable, and Nicolo was glad the cloak came with a hood to hide his face, as he was frowning in concern beneath it. 

Yusuf returned to his side, careful with his cargo and led them at last into the city itself. Nicolo had tried to take it all in without gaping too much - the clay buildings and the oriental architecture that he only heard of before Antioch, countless alleyways from the main road, and like Yusuf had said, people, so many people...

“This is the bazaar,” the man supplied when they turned a corner, entering a courtyard that was under cover. 

Nicolo didn’t know where to look first - the marketplace was buzzing with life despite the early hour, and there was colour everywhere from the beautiful huge rugs to spices and foods that Nicolo had never seen before. And then there were the smells, rich and distinctive, yet blending together in an exquisite fragrance. 

He was so preoccupied trying to commit it all to mind that he didn’t notice Yusuf stopping near one of the vendors. Thankfully, the man was alert enough to break Nicolo’s inevitable fall, for which he muttered a small thanks. 

Yusuf and the merchant - who sold yet more food and then some hunting equipment - argued for a while in Arabic, and despite not understanding a word, Nicolo found himself following the exchange closely. 

The vendor was raising his voice and pointing at Nicolo’s sword, a wild gleam in his eyes. He wondered what the man was offering Yusuf. What if he gave him a price generous enough to convince Yusuf to back down from his promise? He had the costs of both of their living on his shoulders now, Nicolo could hardly blame him, having nothing else to offer… And yet his heart thudded loudly in his throat all along.

Yusuf didn’t hesitate before waving his hand and gesturing to the food before them. He momentarily took his palm off Nicolo’s arm to grip at the hilt of his father’s sword, but shook his head. He gave a few more words to the merchant who seemed too angry to reason with by this point, and waved at him again, this time in question. 

The vendor nodded, all his aggravation gone in a blink and put one hand on his heart as if to apologise. Finally, he moved to pack a few of the hunting supplies that Yusuf had pointed to in a drab grey fabric for them.

Nicolo could only watch Yusuf as he nodded curtly at the vendor, an expression of annoyance over his face. He had dug a few coins from his saddlebag, gave them to the other man and muttered something else at him. Before he was able to respond, Yusuf took the package with slightly more force than necessary and walked away with Nicolo.

Nicolo leaned in, hoping his Greek won’t catch anyone’s ear in all the commotion of the market.

“That man?” He asked, concerned, hoping Yusuf would explain. 

“He very rudely wanted your sword. I wouldn’t sell it, so he got angry, gave us a discount for the impoliteness and some mint for tea,” Yusuf tried to keep his tone as even as possible, but some resentment seeped through regardless, “Now we go get some supplies for the horses.”

Nicolo fell half a step behind, relief and gratitude making him falter. Yusuf had once again taken him by surprise with a matter-of-fact tone of his explanation as well as what seemed like an utter lack of hesitation on his part. He wanted to thank the man, but was afraid that at this point his worthless gratitudes must be wearing him down.

In the end, he picked up his pace, and had entirely different words bubble out of him in a rush.

“Yusuf,” he called, “Will you teach me your tongue?”

Yusuf stopped near another stall, various other supplies overflowing the two counters, and the vendor greeted them with arms wide open, as if he were greeting old friends. He had gone on a long ramble over his products and pointed to some of them separately as his explanation wound on.

Arabic, apparently, had been a very expressive language. Nicolo wondered if the hand gestures at every other word were an obligatory part of it, or was it a cultural manner. 

“Why would you want that?” Yusuf had asked when the merchant had turned to the next customer on Nicolo’s other side.

For a second, Nicolo was at a loss for words, the question too simple and yet too complex to choose one single explanation above all else.

“If we’re to travel together, and if I am to walk these lands and show these people the respect I owe them, I should understand the words they speak, no? And besides, wouldn’t it be easier on you to speak your native language and not have to resort to Greek?”

Yusuf didn’t answer right away. Nicolo didn’t know whether he just didn’t know what to say for once or that he simply wasn’t in a rush.

The vendor had turned his attention to them again, and Yusuf pointed at a few of his wares - some food for the horses and another saddlebag - asked something and paid once again. Then he turned to Nicolo and placed the empty saddle bag over his shoulder as securely as he could. 

He cleared his throat and moved them along, stopping again at the end of the market by one of the alleys. There, he regarded Nicolo for a long time before finally voicing his response. 

“Very well,” he said to begin with, “It should be a fair trade, such as before, and you will teach me yours.”

This time Nicolo thought he could relate to Yusuf in a way of bewilderment. Learning a language wasn’t the same as satisfying idle curiosity with histories and tales - it required focus and commitment, all of which Yusuf had to be aware of, knowing at least one other tongue, outside of his own.

Still, Nicolo nodded, before breathing only: “Why?”

“A fair trade,” Yusuf repeated, except this time there was a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips, “Perhaps I would have business in this Genoa of yours one day. Perhaps it’s just a simple want. Does it matter?”

It did, Nicolo thought. Everything Yusuf did was fascinating to him, a mystery that begged solving. He wanted to know this man, and perhaps one day, when he did, the world itself would no longer come in scattered pieces, perhaps that day everything would fit together as it should...

He kept his thoughts to himself, however, choosing to indulge Yusuf instead.

“You might need a guide then,” Nicolo smiled back, “I suppose, it’s lucky you have a native in your good graces.”

Yusuf’s grin erupted, and he full on laughed in response. 

“Yes, how lucky I am,” he said and then fixed the saddle bag on Nicolo’s shoulder as it nearly slipped to the ground.

Nicolo’s back was to the market, and Yusuf was more preoccupied with their hushed conversation, so neither of them saw a man approaching until he caught Nicolo’s hood to shoved it down, off his head. Nicolo’s bound hands shot up of their own accord, as he whirled around to see, and Yusuf was already past him, holding out a hand to keep the man at bay.

He was shouting something in Arabic and trying to push past Yusuf. Now that Nicolo was facing him, he could see he was tall and bulky, in armour similar to Yusuf’s and a menacing sword halfway out of its sheath. He didn’t take it out yet, but the hand on its hilt was a clear enough warning.

His Arabic sounded different from Yusuf’s, or perhaps it was just his voice, a complete contrast to the man Nicolo came to know. 

He fisted Yusuf’s tunic in rage, spitting out strings of awful-sounding words that Nicolo didn’t know the meaning of. He was causing such a commotion that several of the other patrons stopped to observe the scene, unaware of Nicolo at first, until something he was saying drew their attention.

Yusuf had replied then, in an all too calm of a way, pushing the man with much more force this time. He gestured to Nicolo’s hands and gave the man one last look before gripping Nicolo’s forearm once more to steer him back the way they came from.

The man was silent for a few seconds and then yelled something after them. Yusuf didn’t turn, but his shoulders tensed as if he might’ve for a second.

They walked through the streets fast, against the sluggish flow of people still busy making purchases and trading, with Yusuf making way for them and Nicolo tagging along. He felt surrounded; the explosion of colours, the cacophony of voices assaulting him from all angles no longer seemed whimsical or inviting. He didn’t have to ask Yusuf to understand what this stranger had intended, and Nicolo couldn’t help the dread that settled over him at the thought of being at a mercy of much different captors…

Yusuf didn’t speak until they left the city. Not even as they approached the horses, and he had to pay the guard at the entrance for the courtesy of looking after them. Not when he took the saddlebag from Nicolo, and not even as he helped him up onto the horse, very eagerly, so they would be able to make their hasty retreat as soon as possible. 

Yusuf led both horses as fast as he was able to, still very much taking into consideration the fact that Nicolo wasn’t at full control of Hilal. Only the city wasn’t in sight anymore, what felt like hours later, did he pull on Aftab’s reins at last, slowly bringing the horses to a full stop.

“Perhaps your idea of learning the language is not so bad,” was the first thing Yusuf had said, his voice edging on something Nicolo didn’t like.

“Was it something I did, then?” He asked, voicing the thought that led him to go over everything he did since entering Hama repeatedly in his head, “Did I offend that man somehow?”

After everything he’s seen from Yusuf, it felt impossible not to give any of his people the benefit of the doubt.

Yusuf turned Aftab so he was able to look at Nicolo. Only for a moment a bemused expression was over his face before it was replaced by a look of utter astonishment. 

“Of course not,” he quickly said. “No, that was... I simply meant that it would be safer to use my language while we’re able to be overheard.” 

So it was their speech that gave them away, then.

Yusuf paused, looking behind Nicolo, and shrugged. 

“That man offended you, not the other way around. He had no business even approaching you...” Yusuf trailed off, a clear animosity over his face, as if he was back there again, in the market.

“He had a right to be angry,” Nicolo reasoned, surprised at having to remind Yusuf as much, “And I, for one, am sorry we had to cut the trip short. Were you able to purchase what we need?”

Yusuf sighed in exasperation. 

“Please don’t apologise,” he said before turning away again and leading them ahead in the direction of the mountains ahead.

“We got enough supplies to last us until Damascus,” he replied, “And perhaps we would encounter some animals along the way, you need some meat.”

_

On the way to their next resting point, Yusuf had talked on and off about Damascus and a tough road through the mountains that they would have to take in order to reach it, but promised that they would take breaks as to not burden the horses too much. He joked on how nice it would be if the horses weren’t able to die too, but stopped as soon as he saw the look on Nicolo’s face.

Outliving the people who put their lives in danger knowing what might await them was one thing, but Nicolo had grown attached to Hilal and the thought of losing him wasn’t pleasant.

The sun began to set to their right when Yusuf had led them once again away from the road. There was grass beneath their feet now, and Nicolo was craning his neck when he heard the sound of water. 

“I’m not sure of the name of this lake,” Yusuf said once they could see the birds swarming over the wide pool. But he had found a secluded enough spot on the shore and got off the horse, moving towards Hilal to help Nicolo down.

They made camp in brilliant light of the setting sun, red as if it was a ruby embedded in the crown of golden sky. Still, it weighed on Nicolo - the brightness, the confusion of the day, the uncertainty of their future. For the first time since that fateful night in Antioch, he was truly weary. As his chores were taken care of, his feet took him to the edge of the water, small waves lapping quietly at the sandy bank, insects chirping in the tall green grasses, the coolness in the breeze. He felt like plunging into the depth of it, letting the water soothe his mind, take away the noises of the world, if only for a little while.

He heard Yusuf mutter something in Arabic as he scattered some food for the horses, and before long the man joined him on the bank.

He couldn’t see Nicolo’s face, stopping a step or two behind him, so he couldn’t have seen his expression when he muttered, “Are you alright?” As if sensing that something was the matter just by looking at Nicolo’s back.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about retribution,” Nicolo said to the air, letting the breeze catch his words and scatter them, unsure if he wanted Yusuf to hear, “How we all reap the fruit of what we’ve sown.”

“What about it?” Yusuf asked, though it sounded less like a question and more like a plain statement of interest. 

He took one step closer, looking ahead just as Nicolo did. Maybe he thought the lake or the sky above might give him the answer.

Nicolo twitched, meaning you wrap his arms around himself, forgetting he was still bound.

“What would be the cost of it for someone just short of the highest price,” he pondered out loud.

Yusuf didn’t miss the movement, as subtle as it was. His eyes darted to the rope before returning to the surrounding landscape. 

“Redemption isn’t to trade, I don’t think. So it would be less about the actions they took,” he hummed, “And more of what they’d do with their newfound knowledge that matters.”

Nicolo considered it. 

All his life he’s been told that one’s life in this world was about atonement, about earning forgiveness for the sins committed before one was even born into the world... Perhaps, what Yusuf meant was that he’ll never be forgiven at all, and thus was idly entertaining impossibilities. Only his tone was such that Nicolo doubted it. This had to be instead yet another instance on how their view of the world differed.

“And yet, our past seems to be inevitably catching up with us,” he countered.

“The past is the past,” Yusuf said, as he did so many times before. 

Nicolo had to remind himself they only knew each other for a few days, as these words seemed to find a way into their conversations so often. 

“You want a chance for atonement for choices you feel, now, are wrong?” The man wondered, with so little concern it almost made Nicolo smile.

Nicolo was once again amazed at the way Yusuf didn’t seem in the least angry with him, or tired of how he could never leave well enough alone.

“If your advice is not to repeat my mistakes going forward, I’m afraid you aren’t very original, my friend,” he smiled at last, unable to fight it any longer.

“My advice is to not wait for a sign from above to start one’s atonement,” Yusuf said, gesturing at the rope holding Nicolo’s hands together.

Yusuf’s words dawned on him slowly. This was more than he would’ve ever expected, especially having gotten them into trouble mere hours ago.

“Do you mean?” Nicolo mouthed.

Surely, he had to be mistaken...

Yusuf replied in Arabic, although the sentence was slow enough for Nicolo to follow, and despite his lack of understanding, he liked the sound of the words. 

“It means the wisest is the one who can forgive,” Yusuf translated. “It is an old saying...” he trailed off, his hand halfway to his dagger. 

Nicolo had expected the man to give him a look of warning or something that might’ve indicated he was anxious about the prospect of Nicolo freed, but there wasn’t any. There was only trust.

Nicolo turned fully to face Yusuf, to give him access to the bindings, and felt his heart drop.

Instead of offering his hands to the man, he bent down, running into Yusuf with as much force as he could muster, knocking him to the side with his shoulder. He could see in a flash how Yusuf’s eyes rounded in astonishment just before they collided, and then the sword that was about to slash across his back, connected with Nicolo’s forearm. 

The pain pierced him through, sudden and sharp, like a hot brand.

Yusuf staggered away, struggling to catch himself, his expression of alarm morphing into something else, something akin to offence as he finally understood what was happening, as his eyes focused on the man dragging his blade from Nicolo’s flesh. 

It was the same man - the same bulky form, the same angry voice, the same crazed look - and he wasn’t alone. They must’ve been followed from the market, from the town, although Nicolo couldn’t imagine how they could’ve done it unnoticed in a land so sparse. 

Still, three other men moved quickly to surround Yusuf, and it was only a testament of his skill that he managed to draw his own weapon before the next attack. Nicolo knew this well from the fair few collisions he had with the man in battle, but Yusuf fought as if he was dancing. His stance was light, his movements languid, and his hold of the scimitar seemed almost casual. Nicolo had only a moment to see him whirl around his attackers, parrying their blows and peppering them with shallow slices. 

He was about to warn Yusuf about a hit from behind, when a hand twisted in his hair, pulling his head back. Nicolo heard Yusuf hiss in pain, and spit something venomous is Arabic, but a blade held to his throat distracted him at last.

The man from the market said something loud and harsh-sounding, and Nicolo heard echoes of cruel laughter in the distance, mixed in with the clanking of metal on metal.

Yusuf replied to him, his own voice low and breathless, as Nicolo struggled against the sword, and the man spat, pressing it even closer, drawing blood. Someone screamed out in pain, but he didn’t think it was Yusuf. A heavy thud marked the first body hitting the ground.

“Leave him be,” Nicolo gritted out in Greek, hoping the men would understand, “It’s me you want! Leave him be.”

The man that held him laughed, but his response came in Arabic again - something that made Yusuf curse and call back in fury.

Nicolo breathed out through the nose, shut his eyes and elbowed his captor in the side as hard as he could. This was just enough to get him to waver, and even though his sword still left a gash on Nicolo’s neck, he managed to break free. The man recovered fast, chasing after him with blow and after blow that forced Nicolo to roll out of the way. He finally saw the opening and kicked the man in the chest with his feet.

This pushed him back, and just as Nicolo frantically scrambled up and away, he saw Yusuf run his blade clean through another of their attackers. He joined one more body on the ground that was no longer moving, the third man at Yusuf’s feet groaned, clasping at his stomach in attempts to stop the flow of blood rushing past his splayed fingers.

Yusuf looked up, his eyes wild with panic, searching, until they met Nicolo’s. 

“Just like when we were fighting against each other,” he muttered, winded, but suddenly smirking, “I have to do all the work.”

Nicolo couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head, his own sense of alarm draining away. Surely Yusuf had to realize that their skills with a sword were well matched… Maybe he would have to remind him once he was out of the bindings. 

Yusuf stepped closer and then passed him by, his eyes losing all of the warmth and humor as suddenly as if someone blew them out like a candle, his undivided attention now on the leader of their attackers. Nicolo followed suit, uneasy about his fate.

The man stood, his hands wrapped tight around the handle of his weapon and his face twisted in absolute loathing. He said something harsh and fast, jerking his chin at Nicolo and then throwing another accusatory look at Yusuf. 

Yusuf only nodded. When he replied his voice was calm and controlled, and then he waved to the man as if in invitation. The attacker rushed him, gritting his teeth and grunting deep in his throat. Yusuf spun around him like a whirlwind, but the man managed to contain most of his attacks. It wasn’t until he stabbed Yusuf through the lower stomach that he seemed to lose his patience. Yusuf winced as the blade slid out, sighed and said something that made the man stagger a step back.

He watched Yusuf tense at the pain, his healing injury concealed with the torn edges of his shirt, and follow. The man seemed to accuse Yusuf more, in a different tone this time, but Yusuf never spoke to him again. With single-minded focus he landed several hits, until the assailant’s sword flew out of his hands, and then cut him across the torso, collarbone to hip. It’s only when his body met the earth did Yusuf reply, so soft Nicolo could barely make out the sound.

It took him a minute to spin around and walk away, returning to Nicolo’s side, tired and resigned. Yusuf was silent for a bit longer, cleaning his scimitar on the dark fabric of his pants. As he was finally about to say something however, Nicolo looked up and saw it - the blade raised in a last desperate attempt over Yusuf’s head. 

Without thinking, Nicolo pulled his own sword from the sheathe on the man’s belt and in the only motion that was possible in such close quarters with hands bound, ran it through Yusuf’s chest, piercing the attacker behind him as well, with a single powerful hit. 

The weapon that was about to take Yusuf’s head off his shoulders, clattered harmlessly to the ground, the man from the market falling with it, no longer to get up. Nicolo breathed out, and that’s when the recklessness of his stunt caught up to him. Wild with dread, he grasped the sword tighter and eased it from Yusuf’s body, letting it fall where it may as he caught the man by the shoulders and guided him to the ground.

Yusuf dropped heavily, twisting Nicolo’s shirt into bloody fistfuls, attempted to take a breath, and coughed wetly and painfully instead, spraying blood over Nicolo’s face. Nicolo watched him stare blankly ahead, jaw working, every muscle locked in agony, and felt suddenly frozen, petrified.

All he could do was wait, praying to any and all Gods that would listen…

“This is how you deal with jokes,” Yusuf’s voice - strained, but nonetheless filled with levity - was the only thing able to bring him back to life, “Stabbing the people who make them?”

Nicolo finally sighed, letting out a breath he’s been holding for what felt like forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we absolutely get carried away when we're writing? Yes. Is this one of our favorite chapters written so far? Also yes! What fo you guys think?  
> ~A&K


	7. PROMISE

Yusuf

Outskirts of Hama, May 1098

  
  


Yusuf didn’t exactly have a favourite way to die, but he supposed dying so that their enemy would, in turn, die himself was as good a way as any.

He tried to move as carefully and as slowly as he could, but that didn’t stop the wound from exploding with pain. He really wished the ability to raise from the dead would also mean that any wounds causing his death would not have to hurt as much. As it was, his body piecing itself together, left him no choice but to sit and wait. He didn’t think the darkness took him for very long this time, maybe a blink.

Still, he was angry. 

With the men that followed them.  _ What did they hope to achieve? _

With dying.  _ Not with Nicolo, of course, what better choice did he have? _

And lastly, he was angry with himself.  _ How didn’t he notice they were being followed? He must’ve grown complacent, too optimistic about the world around, too used to courtesy and kindness... _

He looked over at Nicolo; the man clearly had no answers to any of his questions, but at least he was alive and safe. He did look shaken though, his pupils so small, that his eyes had become but pools of mildest green. Also, Nicolo didn’t seem to breathe.

“This is how you deal with jokes,” Yusuf prompted him, his voice coarse like a sand storm, “Stabbing the people who make them?”

Nicolo looked at him intently for a minute, searching his face as he so often did, as if trying to glimpse something hidden. Whatever he’s seen there seemed to put him somewhat at ease.

“It’s better to get stabbed, than get your head cut off,” he said slowly, with a smallest smile curving up a corner of his mouth, “For all we know you’d have to carry it around under your arm till the end of our days.”

Yusuf laughed, though the act was cut short by the sharp stab of pain in his chest. 

“Thank you for that, then. I doubt people would sell us goods just as willingly if I did.”

He watched Nicolo look around, his fleeting amusement fading as he took in the bodies on the ground.

“We shall pay more attention from now on,” Yusuf said. 

He waited a few more seconds before he pushed himself off the ground, turning to Nicolo. The man was still bound, he noted. When Yusuf was deep in deathly darkness, there was nothing stopping Nicolo from freeing himself - there were enough blades scattered about to do so a dozen times - and yet he hadn’t.

Yusuf’s dagger was where he had dropped it when they were attacked, and he moved to pick it up. 

“Give me your hands,” he said, holding the weapon between them.

Nicolo didn’t seem to move or react in any way, his gaze still faraway, even when Yusuf tentatively placed his fingers on Nicolo’s forearm and caught the strand of the rope with the tip of the knife.

“Are you alright?” he wondered. 

He had followed Nicolo’s stare, towards the bodies. He wondered what was on his mind exactly, but didn’t want to pressure in case the other man didn’t deem it necessary to let him know. This seemed to get through to Nicolo at last however. He laughed airily under his breath, turning to Yusuf with a rueful expression.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you this?” He wondered, “I’m sorry. I acted without thinking.”

He rubbed at his wrists as he spoke, seemingly without realising. Yusuf watched the awareness settle in slowly the moment before Nicolo dropped his gaze.

Yusuf smiled, moving to the bodies still on the ground. 

“It’s better than having my head cut off, I don’t know if it’s even possible to attach it back,” he thought the prospect over, imagining his future days spent with a head separated from his body, or worse - leaving Nicolo to discover this was the way to give finality to their existence.

“There is nothing to apologise for,” he said for good measure, “I would have done the same.”

He made Nicolo laugh again, still shallowly, but it was a lovely sound regardless, the sound that gave Yusuf a strange sense of accomplishment.

“Are we safe then?” The man asked, standing to join Yusuf, “Or shall I get ready to fight off an entire army next?”

Yusuf wasn't a man of few words and he didn’t give much thought to the words coming out of his mouth most times. Every now and then he had regrets about it, but usually it worked in his favour to be genuine. 

The notion of Nicolo leaving for another fight made Yusuf uneasy, and before too much time had passed to consider it, he spoke his mind. 

"Well, I suppose now, as you are no longer bound... You can choose to do so, if you wanted."

Nicolo turned to face him so fast, Yusuf worried for a moment he might’ve hurt himself. 

“Are we no longer to travel together?” He asked, and perhaps Yusuf was too hopeful, but it seemed as if Nicolo didn’t especially welcome the prospect.

He had to make sure, though. 

Perhaps loneliness did affect him, after all. Perhaps all these years of traveling unaccompanied by anyone other than Aftab to listen to him - not that he would ever complain for such a loyal companion - were catching up to him. It was a terrible thought - having been as well-adjusted to solitary existence as he was - to grow attached to someone else.

"You are free," he said for good measure, "If you wanted to - you can go."

“I have nowhere else to go,” Nicolo answered, so fast it took Yusuf a moment to comprehend. They looked at each other, and whatever Nicolo seemed to discover on his face only deepened his distress, “And besides, didn’t we make a deal?” He added, “It’s rude not to make good on your promises where I come from!”

Yusuf let out a chuckle, and it was a bit more breathless than he thought it would be. 

"No, you are right. I would shame my mother if I was this rude," he smiled and held out his hand in what he hoped wasn't a desperate act, "We will go together, wherever we go."

Nicolo grasped his hand without hesitation, a smile of his own breaking out across his face, his warm fingers tight around Yusuf’s.

“Together,” he nodded, “Now, are we safe or are we to expect more to follow,” he gestured to the dead.

"No, I think these are the only fools that he managed to find," Yusuf said, turning to look at their attackers again. 

He crouched near the leader, turning him around with more force than necessary and glanced at Nicolo. He thought of what they had said, their threats turned empty indeed, but it burned something in Yusuf he didn't like. 

He was glad Nicolo didn't know Arabic just yet.

"We would have to get rid of them," he mused aloud, giving his thoughts a break for now, “At least they were considerate enough to attack before dark as I don't see how we can keep this spot.”

Nicolo cast about, thinking of the challenge this presented, but he seemed more at ease, Yusuf thought, no tension in his shoulders, no crease between his brows.

“What was it that led them to follow us this far?” He asked, almost as an afterthought, “They seemed more angered with you, even than they were with me.”

"They were looking for an outlet for their frustration," Yusuf tried to deflect to save both of them the distress, "Help me move them into a pile," he added and held the arms of the body closest to him. 

Then he dragged it across from Nicolo until they were in a place that made sense, letting go and looking at the other bodies. Nicolo didn't move, and he had a determined look on his face about it. He wanted his question answered. Of course he did...

"They were more mad at me, I suppose. They thought I was protecting you... that I was conspiring with you over the fall of the Muslim world." Repeating the words made Yusuf less angry than he thought they would; it didn't ease his sadness over how war made people turn on one another however. 

Somehow he was sure that Nicolo would know there was more to it, so he continued. 

"Then they went into very thorough detail of what they would do if it was them in my shoes..." he let his voice fade out, not knowing how to end the sentence, but looking at Nicolo, he realised didn't have to.

“I didn’t think of that,” Nicolo muttered, grabbing another of the assailants by the arms at last, and waiting for Yusuf’s assistance this time, “I wish you’d warned me that you were putting yourself in harm's way by simply traveling with me, even as your prisoner. How are we to travel as companions if even being seen together is a grave offence?”

Yusuf moved to the body’s other side deep in thought. He raised its legs and together they hauled it towards the other one. 

“In all honesty, I didn’t think too much of it,” he said and straightened his back before they went for another one. 

“Further south will not be a problem, especially once you start speaking some Arabic.” 

Yusuf hoped Damascus would have answers for them; otherwise, it’d be a dead end.

“Then I better start learning,” Nicolo amicably agreed.

They made a pyre out of the bodies which Yusuf doused with oil and set on fire. He was about to move on to packing up their camp and loading the horses again, and just turned to ask Nicolo for help once more, when the words died on his tongue. 

Nicolo stood on his knees, his sword thrust into the ground, both of his hands resting on either of the cross guards and light of the flame dancing across his face. He looked very at peace that way, his features smooth and devoid of any bitterness that wakefulness usually brought with it, his lips moving noiselessly to the words Yusuf didn’t know.

He understood he must be intruding, and yet he couldn’t make himself take his eyes off Nicolo for another long moment. At last he forced himself to turn to their belongings, making the packing by himself as quickly and quietly as he could to make up for it.

Yusuf waited patiently by the horses for Nicolo to rise again and approach them in his own time before handing him Hilal’s reins. The animal was happy to be led by Nicolo, it seemed, as it was eagerly shoving its head to the man’s shoulder, asking to be pet. 

Yusuf chuckled. 

“Come, let’s move to the other side, there is another shaded corner right there.”

_

“The sun is set,” Nicolo noted, watching the pyre blaze across the lake from where they decided to make do for the night.

“Yes,” Yusuf nodded curtly, “Thank you for captioning the day’s progress so well.” 

He had started building the fire, gesturing to the horses with his other hand, hoping Nicolo would understand to make use of his now free hands to take care of them.

He caught on fast, huffing in both humour and irritation.

“What I meant is, you usually pray before nightfall,” Nicolo explained.

Yusuf stared at him, his mouth shaping in a silent ‘oh’. The last day had been a constant pressure that didn’t leave him much time to think of his religious duties... He knew Nicolo noticed his prayers - it was pretty difficult not to, considering their schedule was around it sometimes - but he didn’t think he kept track of the times of day. 

“You are right again,” he said in lieu of thanks. “I can pray later, unless... Will you be alright handling setting up camp by yourself?”

Nicolo only nodded and turned away, leaning over one of the saddle bags, but before his hair fell to hide his face, Yusuf thought he looked pleased.

_

  
  


Yusuf stepped through the bow, placed the limb on his ankle and pulled on the other limb until it bent enough to be strung. He glanced up. Nicolo was watching him so intently, his fingers stopped listening to him for a second, making the string slip off.

"If one could string a bow with their eyes, we would've already been well on the way," he muttered pointedly, making Nicolo meet his eye instead.

It still was very difficult for him to follow Yusuf’s Arabic, so it served as a distraction enough. They started doing this the night they were ambushed by the lake, sitting by the campfire afterwards and reminiscing to pass the time, so it’s only been a few days since Nicolo had started his attempts at learning. He claimed Yusuf had an easier time grasping Italian, which had enough in common with Greek to perhaps make this true, but Yusuf was impressed nonetheless.

“I was thinking about crossbows, actually,” Nicolo answered in his native tongue.

“Crossbows?” Yusuf repeated, tasting the new word.

Nicolo translated it to Greek for him and he smiled. A crossbow did seem somehow more suited to Nicolo, yes. Still, the man had nothing to complain about, it only took him three arrows to hit the mark that Yusuf pointed out for training - an inconspicuous grey rock in a sea of similar grey stones in the distance. He was a natural. 

It took Yusuf years to master archery to a passable degree, and it still wouldn’t have taken him only two tries to get used to an entirely new bow. 

"Impressive," Yusuf said. 

He thought for a moment to tease the other man, see how well he can translate quick remarks of wit on his own, but being taught as often as he was, Yusuf had more than a few chances to grasp the importance of praise. 

He watched a small critter pass underfoot; a lizard of some sort, not something that would be passable as food. 

"Perhaps we can find you something alive to fire at, myself notwithstanding, huh?" He said, keeping his tone as humorous as possible. 

Before Nicolo was able to reply, Yusuf had decided for both of them and clapped his hand on the man’s back in a small gesture of affection, pulling him onwards.

They had to walk quite a way away, making a slow progress through the rough terrain of the mountains, but in the end tracks led them to a small secluded clearing, the sound of partridges’ cooing filling the air and masking their muffled footsteps. Yusuf placed a hand on Nicolo’s elbow, making him pause before he spooked the birds. 

“You see that one?” Yusuf pointed out to him in a whispered Greek - no time for language lessons now, “Its wing is damaged. It won’t be able to fly on its own.”

Nicolo searched the flock and finally locked his eyes on the bird he had in mind. The partridge still looked well enough - meat on its bones, feathers smooth - but its wing hung wrong, unable to fully fold. Yusuf was about to suggest they find a better vantage point, as the bird was quite a way away and surrounded with others, swarming around, but Nicolo had already knocked an arrow and pulled the string, his eyes narrowing as they trained on their target.

Yusuf let his hand slip away and settled in to watch. They were lower on supplies than he would’ve liked, yes - his calculations off for a lack of experience in providing for more than himself - but some impulsive part of him was just so curious, so incredulous. If he had anyone to bet against, he thought he might’ve gambled on Nicolo’s success - luck or skill, whichever it might be. 

Nicolo’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a steadying breath, his muscles tensed and finally, he released the arrow. Yusuf was grinning even before he could turn and see the birds screeching as they scrambled away, spooked by the sudden attack. Nicolo’s eyes widened before he even lowered the weapon, and then his face filled with such unabashed, childlike awe, it was all Yusuf could do not to laugh. 

Later that night, long after Yusuf had finished his prayers and the both of them set up camp somewhere not too far from the road - this time on a too open a space for both of their comfort, an involuntary choice considering the terrain - was when Yusuf showed Nicolo how to prepare the bird. 

They were seated closer than usual, Yusuf kneeling on the ground and the bird before them, when it occurred to him that perhaps he had been uncharitable in his want to eat the animal.

“Does your religion allow this meat?” He asked, not entirely certain on Nicolo’s people’s beliefs and customs in that aspect.

The man smiled at him, raising his brow.

“Unless I’m fasting, it does,” he shrugged, “Which I had enough of for a lifetime, I think.”

He took the bird from Yusuf, continuing to pluck off soft, damp feathers as he was instructed. 

Yusuf hummed, making a makeshift skewer for the bird to sit on over the fire. He looked at Nicolo to see how well he was faring and was pleased to find him well on his way. 

“I cannot eat meat that isn’t Halal,” he said, following with an explanation of the concept in Greek as he had no word for it in Nicolo’s language or any other. “But my religion is lenient if you’re starving to death.” 

He laughed then, thinking of how it really shouldn’t apply to him now - it felt more as a loophole than anything. Nicolo laughed with him, softly. 

Nicolo’s laughs, he began to notice, were mostly subtle, breathless things, airy and fleeting, like spring breeze. He seemed almost as caught off guard by them as Yusuf was, and the smiles that followed were equal parts abashed and dauntless. 

“Allah is merciful, it seems,” he answered in Arabic, the sentence just slightly flawed.

Yusuf chuckled. 

He had often wondered how other religions behaved as opposed to his own, and while the differences weren’t that subtle, there was rarely quite so peaceful a way to discover them. Nicolo spoke freely, and while he didn’t know if it was because of the man’s past or just his overall way of thought, Yusuf still appreciated it. 

“That’s good,” he murmured as Nicolo finished his task of cleaning the bird, and brought it over to the fire. ”We need to talk about Damascus,” he decided. 

They weren’t far now, perhaps only a few more days before they would reach the city. They still had to finish the mountain crossing, but he realised after a beat that for the first time in his life - he wasn’t in a hurry. 

“It’s very religious,” he began, not sure if he mentioned it before, “And also very large. It’s very different from what we saw in Hama... The person I know there is alright, but we’d probably stay there a couple of days, so it’s best if we tried to blend in as much as possible.”

Yusuf didn’t mean, of course, the incident with the men was Nicolo’s fault. To his very last breath he would argue that the fault remained with those that they killed... But he knew Damascus, and he knew they couldn’t, under any circumstance, have a repeat there.

“I don’t expect a celebration in my honour when we arrive,” Nicolo assured him, “As long as we can find answers there, I’ll be happy to play any part you’ll have me play. If there’s perhaps someplace to stay out of the folk’s eye, I shall stay there. Otherwise, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do.”

If Yusuf had to have this conversation with anyone other than Nicolo, he would have probably found it either unbelievably uncomfortable or all the way infuriating, or perhaps both at the same time. If it were anyone other than Nicolo, the words wouldn’t be so kind - Yusuf was able to tell simply by looking at him that he understood. 

Understanding was too subtle of a way of putting it, even. 

They were simply in tune with one another, and it made a world of difference. He didn’t need to fiddle with pleasantries or force false sentiments to try and mask the reality - Nicolo seemed to understand whatever he wanted him to before Yusuf could even muster the words. 

“I don’t think we would need to put you under a lock and key,” Yusuf said, the idea of restricting Nicolo’s free will again was distasteful to say the least. “Only that we’d have to conceal you better, I suppose. And we’d speak in my tongue, just to be safe.”

He looked up at the sky, then, the moon shining brightly above them.

Yusuf thought about time and how sometimes seasons passed him by in a blink, and then weeks became forever. He thought that sitting by the fire, watching Nicolo’s face change as he took his first bite of the bird, rubbed with spices and roasted over the coals, attempting to make a joke in a tongue that was still too new, and yet making him laugh regardless, wasn’t such a poor way spend forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you like this chapter as much as the last - we absolutely loved all your comments <3 Keep letting us know how you feel about the story and we'll have the next update soon for you!  
> ~A&K


	8. SILHOUETTE

Nicolo

Damascus, June 1098

  
  


Seeing the great walls of Damascus made Nicolo feel as though the journey he and Yusuf started at the middle of the battlefield in Antioch had come to something of a conclusion. He had felt like some chapter had been over, and despite it not being the end of the story, it still held significance.

The city was impressive, with tall brick walls covering its defences, a few large watch towers sitting ominously above the rest, like sentinels. 

Yusuf had stopped them before they were seen from the city’s North gate, indicating they should move on foot from there on out. He had taken the cloak he usually wore at nights when it was colder and gave it to Nicolo; it had been somewhat more concealing, and he wrapped the hood in a way that left only Nicolo’s eyes visible. 

“You will have to keep your head down,” Yusuf instructed, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Nicolo knew immediately the man was about to tease him, “Your eyes would blind anyone looking at you, with how bright they are.”

Nicolo laughed, not having a good enough answer for Yusuf as he so often didn’t, lost in the mirth setting his dark eyes alight. 

Still, the nervousness overcame his momentary amusement and he had still felt that same worry when they stopped at the gates, even as Yusuf exchanged a few words with one of the guards in an Arabic so fast that he didn’t even hope to grasp it just yet. He tried, though, making out some words on the state of their affairs in the city and Yusuf’s answer which he knew meant “family”. Nicolo still didn’t know who they were meeting, and though he trusted Yusuf, the uneasiness didn’t leave him as they made their way past the gates and onto the streets. 

“We’ll hitch the horses near our destination,” Yusuf offered in Arabic, “It’s not far now.”

Nicolo took the time they did have to examine their surroundings. The city was very different from Hama; it was livelier, the amount of people crossing the streets was far bigger than in the trading town, and he found himself trying to soak in as much as he could from the Arabic flowing from people’s mouths all around him. He was happy to determine his lessons with Yusuf had had an effect - he understood a lot of what was said around them.

The streets were bigger too, big enough for two horses on each side, and the pavements were made from the same beige brick that formed the city walls and buildings. Despite that, it was still colourful in its own way, with bright fabrics and all kinds of folk. 

Yusuf stopped them after they had rounded a corner into an alleyway and once Aftab slowed down, he was able to see the small courtyard they stepped into. It wasn’t much, just enough space for them to stand and he still had to manoeuvre around the horses to get to Yusuf. 

“Here,” the man pointed to a hitching post, helping Nicolo along.

Once the horses were taken care of, Yusuf led him to an inconspicuous doorway, where he knocked three times before a woman in navy hair covering opened. She was shorter than either of them, but perhaps a little older, with skin as tan as Yusuf’s and clever dark eyes. Her face, slightly rounded, reflected some quiet power - a command of the situation that surprised Nicolo.

She paused, completely overwhelmed by either Yusuf or himself - though Nicolo had an inkling it was more about the former than the latter. She shook it off pretty quickly, however, and ushered the two of them inside, no questions asked.

The room they entered was also small - a kitchen to the right and in the other corner some chairs and an end table, with two other archways covered with thick fabrics. Something about it Nicolo found strangely welcoming...

As soon as the door was closed and locked, the woman spun around, gave Yusuf a long, searching gaze, and finally broke into a widest, most overjoyed smile. Her eyes lit up, and she wrapped Yusuf in a hug, that made Nicolo feel like he was intruding. Yusuf laughed and lifted her a little, giving her a small half-spin. Nicolo watched them laugh for another blink, before turning to give the two some privacy, choosing to rest his eyes on the few vibrant decorations. 

“Ameera, this is Nicolo,” Yusuf called out to him, once the woman had let him go. 

He had made the introductions as easy as breathing, and once again Nicolo was left in awe at how it all came so effortlessly to Yusuf. He, on the other hand, didn’t know how to greet her, or whether he should remove his own covering to reveal who he was. Yusuf didn’t mention the appropriate way to approach Muslim women, and he didn’t want to make a poor first impression.

Yusuf helped him, most likely sensing his distress. He had taken off Nicolo’s covering for him and let Ameera approach.

She gave Nicolo one glance and the gleam in her eyes turned from excitement to fascination. One of her small hands shot up to cover her mouth as she laughed in surprise, and shot Yusuf a glance that was part accusation and part praise.

“Yusuf,” she exclaimed, making his name sound different somehow, unfamiliar, “Where did you find him? He’s marvelous!”

Her Arabic was fast and somehow more melodious than any other version of it Nicolo has heard so far, but also clear enough that he understood almost everything, if with a momentary delay. 

Nicolo felt his brows knit together as he comprehended her words, unsure whether he was to take them as a joke. Admittedly, it was better than being yelled at and pierced with swords, but not marginally, he didn’t think. Something about the woman made him want to retreat… Perhaps Yusuf would let him stay with the horses.

Yusuf chuckled at her words instead, and as though he could feel Nicolo’s panic, put a hand on his shoulder, a solid and comforting weight of it fixing him in place. 

“He was made in Genoa,” Yusuf said, and Nicolo would’ve thought he imagined the delight in his voice, except next he added: “I swept him away from the battleground.” 

There was a strange kind of pride in his words; Nicolo was sure he had to have misunderstood the language. Ameera laughed in response though, the sound bubbling out of her with sincerity and ease. 

“Well, aren’t you a prince,” she cooed, looking at Nicolo again. 

She had the same look in her eye that Yusuf had only a moment ago, as if it was contagious somehow. It was both endearing and daunting to observe them together, Nicolo found.

Yusuf managed to intervene before she could say anything else, however.

“Now, my dear, please behave. We don’t want to spook him.”

Ameera immediately pressed her lips together and raised her palms in a show playful surrenderer.

“It is very nice to meet you, Nicolo,” she said at last, making her Arabic suddenly slow and soft for him, “I hope the city treats you well.”

He took a breath, trying to remember the words - as much of them as he managed to memorize in the short time that Yusuf had been teaching him.

“I haven’t seen much of it, my lady,” he offered, hoping this wouldn’t offend her, “But it’s a relief to finally make it here.”

“And he speaks Arabic!” Ameera cheered. 

She had exclaimed something else, something Nicolo didn’t understand, and when he looked at Yusuf the man had the audacity to wink at him, of all things. This was proving a more difficult day than Nicolo could’ve anticipated in a thousand years. 

“Sit down, sit down,” she said in a kind, but commanding way, pointing at the chairs. 

Then, without a warning, she simply stormed off to the kitchen and began some preparations that Nicolo couldn’t understand even as he watched her fuss about.

“She said you have good manners,” Yusuf whispered to him in Greek once she turned her back. 

He had his hand on Nicolo’s forearm, guiding him to sit down, as he still didn’t move an inch. In the end Nicolo let himself be led away and seated at the small table. 

“Who is this woman?” He asked as quietly as he could manage while still having Yusuf make out the words, in Greek, not Arabic anymore. 

His eyes never left Ameera’s form as he spoke, and he didn’t think she noticed.

“I worked for her, one time...” Yusuf said and left it at that. 

Nicolo knew he didn’t intend to elaborate, but also that there was more to it. He waited until Yusuf looked at him and raised his eyebrows. 

For a second it seemed as if he wouldn’t continue regardless, but then Yusuf sighed and added: “She’s also aware of the whole not dying aspect of it.”

Nicolo looked again at Ameera’s back, watched her move around the kitchen, washing fresh mint in a copper basin and putting it in a teapot, already filled with hot water. She looked completely at ease, just as calm and vibrant as before, but Nicolo couldn’t help but see her differently.

She knew their secret - well, Yusuf’s part of it at the very least - and yet, and yet…

“And you trust her,” as so many times before, it wasn’t entirely a question, but he looked at the other man expectantly nonetheless. 

Yusuf only managed to nod before Ameera returned with a tray filled with dried fruit, the teapot and three short glasses. She took the teapot in her hands, hunching over to pour some tea into each glass. She then sat down, moving to look at Yusuf intently again. He trusted her, Nicolo told himself firmly, it would have to be enough.

“So, Yusuf,” Ameera started, “Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but what are you doing here?”

“We think you can help or we hope at least,” Yusuf said bluntly, no preamble or pretense either, “Nicolo is like me.” 

Honestly, Nicolo shouldn’t have been surprised that Yusuf already had a ready reply to such a question either, and of course like every other thing he said, it came out fluently and without a shade of indecision.

Ameera tried to contain a smile, but it took over her face again in a manner of seconds. She shook her head and looked slowly between Yusuf and himself, as if there was an invisible revelation written in the air between them, invisible to anyone but her.

“Well, my husband does always say that Allah is generous with his blessings,” she mused, seemingly impressed.

_ A husband?  _

Nicolo shot Yusuf a confused glance, but the man either didn’t want to acknowledge it or didn’t realize. He did look somewhat befuddled himself though. Perhaps, Nicolo needed to give them a moment alone after all…

Yusuf was just about to say something, on that very subject possibly, when the same three short knocks sounded from the front door, interrupting him.

Ameera clicked her tongue, made a face, but finally stood up to open.

She did this very particularly, first glancing through a crack, her form tense for the first time since Nicolo has met her, and then opening the door all the way to let in another man. He looked very plain, Nicolo thought at once. Unlike Yusuf and Ameera herself, he seemed almost unnoticeable, meek and reserved in his mannerisms. If they passed each other by in the street, Nicolo doubted he would’ve given the man a second glance.

It wasn’t a mean-spirited observation either - throughout the past couple of weeks Nicolo was often wistful of the time he himself could go about living his life without notice.

The man didn’t seem to realize they weren’t alone as he greeted Ameera - a kiss on each cheek and a mutter of words too low for Nicolo to hear - but something in her expression must have tipped him off to take a second glance around the room.

His eyes took in Yusuf first, and a smile began to tug on his lips, only to be replaced with a worried frown as his gaze locked on Nicolo. 

“Ibrahim, my friend,” Yusuf rose to his feet, pulling Nicolo along by the cuff of his sleeve. He either felt the change in the atmosphere or simply knew it wouldn’t go over well with the man, since he put himself in between Nicolo and this Ibrahim as he opened his arms wide. “Been a long time.”

“Yes,” Ibrahim replied curtly, ignoring Nicolo for a moment to answer Yusuf’s hug. It was less than a second before he let go, and Nicolo could see the profound difference to the warm greeting he gave Ameera. Still, he exchanged pleasantries with Yusuf for a few more moments before turning to the woman again. 

“My dear, tell me there is a reason why we have a foreigner in our home.” 

Ah, so this must be the husband... 

Ameera smiled an amused smile, and shot Nicolo a near conspiratory look before turning to Ibrahim to answer. 

“Nicolo is no foreigner - he’s Yusuf’s companion and he is our guest,” she put her hand on the man’s forearm, like Yusuf did before to Nicolo, as she led him further into the room, passing Yusuf by, “Nicolo, this is my husband - Ibrahim.” 

The man looked befuddled for a moment longer, before he reluctantly held his hand out to shake. 

It had been a cold touch, which Nicolo did his best not to flinch from, and yet Ameera must have had the same powers as Yusuf for noting people’s discomfort, because she stopped the exchange before it could go on for too long. 

“Yusuf just told me he had not been to the mosque for a few weeks now, I don’t think you would be opposed to taking him with you?”

Immediately, Nicolo could tell she wasn’t asking and felt suddenly nervous for the prospect of staying in a place he didn’t know, with a woman who knew his secret without Yusuf to watch his back should something go wrong. He had to remind himself yet again, that Yusuf trusted her.

Ibrahim, it seemed, came to the same conclusion, and although he obviously didn’t have much love for the prospect of leaving his wife alone with a stranger either, gave in under her stern look.

“Come, Yusuf, the sun should set soon. I will help you fetch your belongings and we will go.”

Nicolo decided then that she wasn’t looking to help him out of the situation, but wanted to help her husband instead. Perhaps he needed some time to come to terms with what was happening, as the man had left without waiting for Yusuf’s agreement. 

“Ameera, I don’t-“ But she didn’t let Yusuf finish his sentence, and only urged him to the door. 

“Nicolo and I will be just fine, run along now.”

“Ameera,” Yusuf said again, in a tone that sounded like a warning, even as she opened the door and all but pushed him out. 

Nicolo didn’t know what he meant to say, but he had to have seen something on her face to let him leave it be for now; he went outside to help Ibrahim unload the horses, and after a moment of observing both of them with a vaguely satisfied look, Ameera made it back inside. 

Nicolo wanted to offer his help as well, but was shot down by the woman, who sat him back at the table again. 

Right after Yusuf put their last bag near one of the cloth covered archways, he paused by Nicolo’s side. His dark eyes searched Nicolo’s features for a moment too fleeting for comfort, before narrowing in a way that seemed to be somewhat unsatisfied.

“The mosque is two blocks away once you take a right turn to the street,” the man said in Greek.

The underlying meaning of his words caught up with Nicolo immediately -  _ should anything happen, come find me _ , was what Yusuf didn’t want to say out loud.

Nicolo only nodded and stared at his retreating back grimly. Something about being separated from Yusuf felt wrong in more ways than Nicolo could’ve expressed. Maybe it was all those days spent in inevitable company of each other that made him grow too attached… And yet the distress was too deep to disregard on those grounds.

“Now, let’s make some food, shall we?” Ameera’s voice brought him back from his musings, even if it didn’t do much to brighten his mood.

The woman seemed to be the general in her home, and whoever entered it surely became her soldier. She ordered Nicolo around for a while, making him fetch ingredients and hand her over anything she couldn’t easily reach, but it wasn’t entirely as dreadful as he expected. Something about the rhythm of her chores was slowly putting him at ease, until it seemed impolite to stay quiet any longer. 

“I never thought to ask Yusuf this,” he began slowly, choosing his words with care, “But don’t women in your faith pray as men do?”

Somehow, it felt alright to ask her this. Ameera seemed like the kind of woman who took anything in stride, too perceptive and shrewd to take offense when none was meant. 

“Women in my faith?” She smirked, though whether at a wrong choice of words or the sentiment itself, Nicolo didn’t know, “Perhaps.” She allowed, then thought about it for a second and added, “But I am not a woman of faith.”

This was perhaps the only kind of answer Nicolo wouldn’t have anticipated, and his shock seemed to please Ameera very much. She raised an eyebrow at the wide-eyed gaze he settled on her, unable to check himself despite all his cautiousness.

“You don’t believe?” He wondered, in awe so thorough it momentarily brought his guard down completely, “Not in any god?”

Ameera’s smile only grew wider, before she shrugged and dropped her gaze back to the grains she’s been washing in a bowl. Her amusement didn’t fade.

“Do you?” She asked as if in afterthought, although at this point Nicolo had spent enough time with Yusuf to know true interest when he was met with it. 

“I...” He began and realised that the question had caught him completely unaware. He found that for whatever reason he didn’t want to be dishonest with Ameera, at least not about this, “I- yes I - I can’t be sure,” he finally managed, just as unprepared to hear his own words, as he was hers, “I am a priest,” he explained.

Ameera hummed to herself, and it was so melodious, Nicolo thought at first that she began to sing.

“A priest who can’t be sure whether he believes in his god,” she assessed, “How fascinating!”

Nicolo snorted, startling himself with such a reaction. As he looked to the woman nervously though, she only pointed at the spoon on his side of the counter, and paid him no more mind.

“To be fair,” he added after a while, “I’m not sure that any of the priests of my faith truly believe.”

Ameera gave him a look he had trouble deciphering, but didn’t say anything. He was surprised to realise, after his initial reserve faded entirely, that she was comfortable to be around. Not too demanding when it came to courtesies, and not too lenient when it came to arguments, assertive and to-the-point.

She reminded him of Yusuf that way…

He thought, for a moment, as she asked him to chop the vegetables he carried over before, that the people in this land were very different from the people back home... if he could even still call it home after everything. Ameera, for example, had no real reason to welcome him with open arms, and yet she did. Even her husband, with all of his reluctance, seemed to be somewhat at peace with an idea of an invader in their home. 

It weighed at his heart and filled him with guilt and regret at the thought of how many people like that were in Nicaea, in Antioch, who were peacefully living their lives before Nicolo’s leaders decided to go and invade a place they had no business touching. 

Ameera put a hand on his shoulder softly to release him from his own tormenting thoughts. 

“Whatever happened to lead you here... don’t linger in it,” she offered, and her sentiment echoed Yusuf’s usual advice, it made him chuckle a little, “You are here now, and this is all that matters.”

They worked together wonderfully, Ameera instructing and teaching him what the ingredients were, what else to make with them and what they were making.

“Couscous,” she called the dish and showed him how to knead the grains - semolina - with water and oil. “We will have chicken and vegetables with it.”

Nicolo did his best to soak it all in, though he still felt he needed to write down the recipe in the end. She did make it sound as if it was of utmost importance to know how to cook this, but didn’t say much about any significance the dish might hold. The way she treated it, though, made him feel like it held some mystery or power, unbenounced to the rest.

Ameera’s smile about it was so enigmatic, he felt out of his depth pursuing the subject, as she was already too charitable in sharing it with him, so Nicolo decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. 

“How do you know Yusuf?” He asked.

The woman looked up at him, fondly this time, her eyes aglow at the mention of Yusuf.

“I have a mind of a scholar,” she began, adding some of the liquid from the pot with the vegetables into the semolina. “Around these parts, women scholars are frowned upon. There were a few to pave the way for me, but you see - my research goes against the Quran, and even for a man it would’ve posed problems.”

She showed him how to cut the chicken pieces she had into the vegetables pot and resumed her story. 

“My husband, bless him, had decided to help in the hope that perhaps if he was in the front of things, everything would be easier. Some people... they have a narrow mind and they take pleasure in making others’ minds bend to their will. They have taken me, thinking this would stop my husband - and me, in reality - from going against their faith, even if I was just trying to provide a different approach to it.”

Nicolo nodded, thinking back on how Yusuf spoke about bad people being everywhere, along with the good. 

“This will take time,” Ameera nodded to the food. “Come, let’s sit down.”

She poured them another tea, the first one left untouched, and looked as Nicolo took a bite of a date before she continued.

“Ibrahim heard of Yusuf, somehow, of a man helping people in need such as ours and sent him after me. I have never seen anything quite like him - the way he fought, the way he decided on things… He managed to find me, and yet the men who took me thought him to be a simple mercenary, willing to sell his sword to the highest bidder. This was of course not the case. Yusuf insisted on protecting me and doing so cost him his life. Well, one of them at least... You can probably imagine how surprised I was to see him walk again afterwards,” she looked affectionate once more, and this time Nicolo simply knew it’s how speaking of Yusuf made her. 

“I felt indebted - still do - being saved at the cost of one’s life and death,” Ameera went on after clearing her throat, “And Yusuf was so kind to both myself and Ibrahim, so considerate. At first I thought it might be because I had accidentally learned his secret, but he seemed to trust me well enough. He ended up staying here for some time before moving on.”

Nicolo frowned into his glass, his fingers so tight around it, it made his knuckles white.

He thought he would travel with Yusuf for a long time, something about the way they fit together, about their particular gift and everything that made them strangers to their respective peoples, but not to each other, led Nicolo to hope… He must’ve fooled himself - after all this was where Yusuf wanted to reach, and now he could see that here was where Yusuf wanted to be. A heart tied to another - especially a heart as filled with light and passion, and goodness as Yusuf’s - deserved to be cherished and cared for… 

He would feel terrible asking Yusuf to tear himself away from this mystifying woman - whatever their relationship might be - especially when their feelings for each other were so undoubtedly mutual.

“He’s very dear to you,” Nicolo noted at last, his voice unexpectedly hoarse.

Ameera either didn’t notice the tone or thought it was too impolite to comment on it. 

“He saved my life,” she said, looking to the door as if expecting Yusuf to appear there out of thin air, “I suppose we share a connection, in a way.”

Nicolo didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to tell her that perhaps Yusuf saved his life too, but his mind provided him with the stark difference in their knowing Yusuf - Ameera was good to him, kind to him, Ameera surely never tried to kill him, never actually killed him!

And she was kind enough to let him have his thoughts now, as she rose and took the glasses on the tray from the table, walking back into the kitchen. 

All Nicolo was able to do was watch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some quality Nicky angst, kids! We promise not to make our OCs too big in the story though. Most of them are actually based on real historic personalities, but Ameera is our own baby, so please be kind to her :) Let us know what you think about it all so far - your comments are Everything!  
> ~A&K


	9. HALF LIGHT

Yusuf

Damascus, June 1098

Yusuf tried to count the time since his last prayer at a mosque as he was leaving with Ibrahim by his side. It must have been a few months at least, considering his last weeks revolved around war and before that call for arms he spent the time out on the road. 

Whether it were the prayers from the Imam or the atmosphere in the mosque that made him feel like he’s been missing something, he didn’t know. Oftentimes when he prayed on the road, he didn’t have the luxury to take his time, even if lately he had someone to watch his back. Regardless, for the first time in a few months, he felt much more at ease to pray, and by the time they were done, he almost felt reluctant to leave.

The only thing that bothered him really, was how often he had to pretend not to notice the looks Ibrahim received, but he didn’t feel any danger from anyone around them, so he let it be. 

They were halfway to Ibrahim and Ameera’s home, when the man finally broke the silence.

“As much as I appreciate what you’ve done for us in the past,” he began without hurry, his voice peaceful despite what the words entailed, “I don’t know whether I should look kindly at your bringing danger to my doorstep.”

Something about the words didn’t sit right with Yusuf. He wasn’t angry per se, but something akin to defensiveness took over him too abruptly to hold back. 

“Ibrahim, your wife’s going against the Quran in all of the words you take on her behalf, and you are concerned by my companion? You already had danger on your doorstep, otherwise you wouldn’t have locked it.”

Ibrahim’s mouth turned into a flat pale line for a second, but his frown became distant after a minute, his gaze searching every face that passed them by.

“Don’t be offended,” the man remedied, “I didn’t mean to blame you for your choice of company, only to question your sanity.”

“I should have questioned you the same then, back when we first met, but it would’ve been extremely rude,” Yusuf smiled, some of the tension bleeding away.

Ibrahim nodded, smirking at the street ahead himself, somewhat ruefully now.

“I suppose you wouldn’t tell me why you took a crusader to seek my wife’s council?” He considered, not especially resentful of the prospect, as was usually the case where Ameera’s decisions were concerned.

It was a strange relationship they had - Yusuf thought as he did many times before - it took him weeks to first grasp the essence of it. Initially, he even thought Ibrahim a fool for loving so much someone who used him for his courtesy and selflessness. He wasn’t often mistaken when it came to people, but there were always exceptions.

“Do you really wish for another reason to look over your shoulder?” Yusuf asked. 

The question remained unanswered for a long time, as was Ibrahim’s way. In turn, Yusuf didn’t ask how he knew Nicolo to be a crusader - save for the sword on his hip and the look of him there wasn’t much left anymore to make such a conclusion.

“I’d rather know what she and I are up against,” he reasoned, “You know well that I’ve made an error of complacency before. Although, you are within your right to your secrets, as well as she is, and I would not pressure you to share them. Ameera would not look kindly at me for that.”

“Nicolo means no harm to either of you,” Yusuf promised, feeling it needed to be said, “We wouldn’t impose if I thought it’d put you in a bigger peril that you are already in, and no one other than us knows there’s even a crusader in the city.”

They talked in hushed whispers, but even that wasn’t low enough for Yusuf’s taste. He had truly needed to seek guidance from Ameera, but he felt as though both him and Nicolo had earned their downtime, for the moment. Ibrahim didn’t force the subject further, much as he didn’t push for answers when Yusuf returned with Ameera after her rescue, his tunic too bloodied and yet no evident wounds on his body.

And like that, in companionable quiet, they made their way back to the house, where even through the door Yusuf could hear muffled voices and clanking of dishes, and smell the spices. In a way that was essentially unreachable to him anymore, for a second, Yusuf felt almost like coming home. In the end, as Ibrahim knocked on the door, he only hoped that Ameera didn’t scare Nicolo too much…

To his surprise, it was the latter who opened, his eyes wary, alert until they landed on Yusuf, and then as his worry melted away, he smiled. Nicolo looked like a changed man - which Yusuf should’ve predicted really, leaving him in Ameera’s hands - his hair looked smooth and soft, combed and clean, his face had a flush to it, now that they weren’t covered in dust from the road, and the clothes he wore made Yusuf fight back a laugh. Ameera put him in a light well-worn kaftan and pants that were mended in places, both of which surprisingly suited Nicolo, despite even being a little too big.

If the fact that Nicolo greeted them back into the house or that he was wearing what could only be Ibrahim’s own clothes bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave Nicolo a polite smile and walked past him inside, leaving the two alone in the doorway.

“Are you alright?” Yusuf asked, leaving Nicolo a choice to reply to whatever aspect of the afternoon that he wanted.

“It was a very,” he thought about it for a moment, his eyes turning a little guarded, “insightful day. How was-“

“Hurry up and let him in, Nicolo,” Ameera’s carrying voice interrupted whatever his question would’ve been, “You both must be starving!”

Nicolo did as he was told. Yusuf made a note to himself to ask him more about his day later, hopefully when they would be alone.

The moment he moved past the threshold though, he froze, leaving just enough space for Nicolo to close the door behind them and lock it. The smell of spices was one thing, but the look of a dish so familiar and yet so different brought him back to the small town in Tunis, his mother’s preparing dinner with his youngest sister, humming and teaching them all words and proverbs... 

A nostalgic feeling came about him, and he remembered very vividly how he told Ameera of his life in Tunis, and how he missed what it used to be when she asked him why he wouldn’t go back.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” Yusuf said as he turned to Ameera, too busy ushering all of them all to sit and eat to notice his gaze.

Still, she smiled at the sentiment, before shaking her head when they all finally did as she asked. 

“It was my pleasure. Not to mention Nicolo did most of the work.”

She had that glint in her eye again, and Yusuf turned to look at Nicolo, who was now shifting uncomfortably in his chair. 

“Well, you both shouldn’t have bothered,” he said when it was clear that Nicolo wouldn’t say anything. “But thank you nonetheless.”

Ameera gave Ibrahim and Yusuf a moment to pray in thanks for the food and in Allah’s name - a prayer Yusuf usually said only in his mind when he was eating by himself or with Nicolo. At the first taste of food, Yusuf’s earlier feeling came crushing over him once more, and he couldn’t stop the wave of appreciation at the thought of being so well known and loved, to deserve this.

_

  
  


It was long after dark, when Ameera and Ibrahim had long since retired for the night, that he suggested to Nicolo they go for a walk. It suddenly occurred to him that despite all their conversations - despite however many words he could pour into explaining the history and nature of this land - it wouldn’t do to be in a city such as Damascus and not see it with one’s own eyes. After all, nothing too inevitable could befall them where the worst outcomes of rash decisions were concerned. 

Nicolo easily agreed, but as they made their way out onto the streets he seemed quiet again, reserved in a way that became all but abandoned after that fateful night at the lake near Hama. Still, Yusuf didn’t want to force Nicolo to share things he wasn't inclined to, and instead set out to distract him with the excursion. 

Yusuf had told him about the city history, the way the Seljuk empire had taken over not too long ago, and the differences he was told about by the city elders in his last time there. 

He had thought that whatever was on Nicolo’s mind would clear the more he spoke on his history in Damascus, on how his time with Ameera and Ibrahim had changed some of his views and how it was decided that he needed to move on, not looking to set up roots when he was able to help others in need. 

Yusuf was just retelling a story on how he learnt the true nature of Ameera’s views, disguised as her husband’s work, when the same detached look slid over Nicolo’s face, and suddenly curiosity won over and he stopped them.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, hoping to sound as gentle as possible.

Nicolo startled a little and frowned at the landscape ahead, as if Yusuf’s noticing his melancholy upset him. This was new - he never seemed to try and conceal anything from Yusuf before, and the notion made him suddenly uneasy.

“You speak very warmly of Ameera,” Nicolo offered at last, wincing a little as he said the name, “She speaks of you the same.”

“You don’t like Ameera?” Yusuf was surprised enough to fall a step behind - Nicolo always had such an open heart and a mind to suit it. And yet now there was something in his voice that betrayed a sadness Yusuf couldn’t see a reason for.

“No, I do,” the man assured him, pausing and waiting for Yusuf to catch up, “I think she’s quite extraordinary.”

“Isn’t she?” He grinned, glad that about that much at least they were in agreement.

“But, Yusuf, she has a husband.”

It took him a second to grasp what Nicolo meant by stating the obvious, and once he did, it made him bark out a laugh that echoed through the quiet night street, probably too loud for their good.

“Is that what you think?” He asked, still too surprised and humoured to contain himself, “No, Ameera and myself- no!”

Nicolo took him in, his eyes narrowed in doubt that was entirely ludicrous, so once the laughter had faded, he continued.

“It might not seem that way at a first glance, but I assure you Ameera is deeply in love with her husband. Her father couldn’t have made her a better match if he wanted to. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she had the old man just as wrapped around her finger as Ibrahim...”

He looked out, smiling again, softer this time, at the idea.

“But you feel for her,” it was Nicolo’s turn to pull him back to the present.

“Like family, yes,” Yusuf nodded, “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Nicolo seemed so quiet and resigned, so disheartened, he began to think the worst... If only he voiced his concerns right away, maybe they would’ve spared each other the heartache.

“I’d like to travel with you,” Nicolo said suddenly, as if that was explanation enough, but after a baffled look from Yusuf, continued, “I know that it would be impossible if your heart was tied to a place.”

Yusuf didn’t hesitate before replying. 

“I thought we had already established that we are to carry on together,” his words came out more as a question, than he meant, so he amended with: “Surely you did not think I would leave you to settle down with Ameera and Ibrahim.”

“People need to be connected, loved, even people such as us,” Nicolo shrugged, “And you share a connection…”

He trailed off, and despite having a reply on the tip of his tongue, Yusuf fell silent, waiting for him to go on.

Nicolo glanced at him, met his eye and very quickly looked away.

“Was it the first time you died? Protecting her,” he asked in the end, his Arabic barely comprehensible, too quiet and rushed.

Yusuf was tempted to give him the reply he really needed to hear, but he felt as if Nicolo wished to steer the conversation aside with his question, so he decided to be good for once and play along.

“No,” he said, the thought of his first death wasn’t something he treasured. It was all so confusing, and lonely. It occurred to him swiftly, before he spoke again, that neither of them had thought to breach the subject before, even if it was obvious enough. 

“No, I... that happened before. That’s how I made a name for myself as a mercenary. I left Tunis in hopes to do some good - yes - but I was still mortal when that happened. Or, at least, as mortal as we can be, I suppose. I was guarding a family leaving the Maghreb for Egypt when I died. The lands are dangerous enough without the bandits and the such, and I was always a warrior, so I figured, why not help? I don’t know to this day who they were, our attackers, or even where they came from... just that they were many and decided to attack at night - we fought them, endlessly as it seemed back then, and then I felt a knife to my neck and not much other than darkness afterwards. I was... alone when I woke, the next morning.”

Yusuf fell silent after that, unsure what else to say, wondering whether he said too much as it was…

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Nicolo’s voice, clear and matter-of-fact as ever, not even a shade of doubt, seemed to ring all around him, even as the man looked calmly ahead, “I shall stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Yusuf thought of what Nicolo had said before - _people need to be connected, loved, even people such as us_ \- and wanted nothing more than to put his hand on Nicolo’s shoulder to make him pause and wrap him in a hug that would express all his relief and awe, and hope at the thought. Yet, Nicolo was always so cautious and reserved, so on his guard that Yusuf was too afraid this would only cause him distress.

“I am connected enough then,” he muttered in the end, making Nicolo’s head snap back and a smile curve upwards one side of his lips in that same pleased smile that he thought he might’ve glimpsed once or twice before. 

Afterwards, they spent hours wandering around, too giddy to even think of sleep. Once his mood brightened, Nicolo seemed much more susceptible to the charm of the city, so much so that Yusuf regretted not being able to take him out during the day, when it was at its best. Perhaps they could return one day, he decided. Perhaps one day Nicolo would be welcome enough on these streets to look his fill without a threat hanging over his head…

_

By morning, Yusuf felt that any misjudgments between himself and Nicolo would probably be laid to rest, as he had hoped the night’s discussion made them both all too aware of how much simpler it made things to talk to one another. 

He had hoped too, that Nicolo’s anxiety when it came to Ameera - now that he knew Yusuf wasn’t planning on staying without him - would go away as a result. Which was why he was more than happy to return to the house with Ibrahim after their morning prayers and discover Nicolo and Ameera together in her study. 

He had let himself into the house using a key Ibrahim gave him, saying Ameera was late to wake and may not be able to open the door, before leaving for the day of work in the city market stall. 

He made his way into the spare room, stopping short at the threshold and taking in the scene before him. 

He had seen Ameera’s study before, but it still felt as though he was seeing it for the first time; she had a wall lined with bookcases, filled to the brim with books and trinkets, a large desk with two chairs on each side - two of which were currently in use by Nicolo and Ameera, talking closely with their backs to the door - two large rugs, framing the room beautifully, and her newest addition probably, a big brass telescope. 

“So you see,” Ameera said, cutting Yusuf’s survey of the room, “There are plenty of places like these around the world, and I would hope to start one here... no one seems impressed by our proposals so far, but I am writing to someone from Baghdad in hope I can convince them.”

He watched Nicolo nod, too focused on Ameera’s words to notice his arrival.

“In my homeland there are libraries that are open to scholars and nobles, and also clergy,” he was saying, “There was one at the monastery where I did my studies. Some of the tomes and scrolls had been so old and faded it has become our job to transcribe them, a very calming and fascinating task when one knew what he was doing.”

Ameera looked delighted at the prospect of learning more. 

“You must know quite a lot about the world, surely! It feels like a dream to be able to do that... Imagine what we could achieve if we were able to let go of our prejudices and work together.”

Nicolo seemed to think about it for a moment.

“There’s quite a lot of history recorded, a lot about the ruling dynasties in our lands and wars, and mystical events,” he folded his fingers as he spoke, using his hands more than Yusuf had ever seen before, “There are also a lot about medicine and the nature of remedies. And of course studies of our religious texts, and...” He trailed off, momentarily self conscious, an easy laugh bubbling out of his chest, “Yes, there is a lot to be learned. If one day I make it back there I will make sure to get as much to you as possible, I owe you that for your hospitality at the very least.”

Ameera smiled softly, and it reminded Yusuf of how she looked at him when he first shared with her his secret, as unwillingly as it happened, and how she looked at him at his last stay here.

“Nonsense, you don’t owe me anything, Nicolo. Perhaps the next time we meet you would bring texts into a library in this town, run by me!” 

It made Yusuf smile how Ameera was sure this won’t be the last time they would see each other.

“That would be lovely,” Yusuf said aloud, imagining the world in which that would be possible, trying to will it to life with his words.

Ameera and Nicolo’s heads both snapped up in perfect unison, making him impossibly amused considering how intimidated Nicolo seemed by her only hours ago... 

Ameera greeted him with a smile on her face. 

“Nicolo and I have not had breakfast yet,” she said as she moved to stand up. “I will fetch us something to eat while you two finally tell me why you’re here.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and Yusuf already knew enough to not even try and suggest help. Nicolo made a move to stand, but Yusuf waved him back down as he sat next to him. 

“Had an insightful morning?” He asked.

“As I said before, Ameera is an extraordinary woman,” Nicolo shot back, his smile unusually smug, “As it so happens we have a lot in common.”

“I knew you’d come to terms with that eventually,” Yusuf said, and because Nicolo and Ameera had their chairs close together, he was able to bump his shoulder to Nicolo’s in a playful manner.

The man laughed, somewhat ruefully and shook his head at him.

“Must be nice to be both immortal and all-knowing,” he muttered in Italian.

Yusuf understood. 

Ameera cut him off by returning to the room though, holding a tray with bread and some fruit, another pot of tea and glasses. She sat it on the table and moved to sit right across from them, not before pouring some tea for each.

“Should we wait until after you two have eaten to talk?” She smiled, curiosity written all over her features.

“No,” Yusuf quickly shook his head, some of the happiness draining out of him at the thought of the subject ahead, “I know I said that I don’t want to know before, but this is as you might’ve guessed about questions and answers.”

Ameera nodded, a strange look on her face. 

“I did wonder,” she started, “After you left... what kind of gift it was that allowed you to go without dying, and to what extent does this ability go... I wanted answers, even if you didn’t.”

“Can you help, then?” Yusuf asked, and something akin to hope seeped into his voice, uninvited, “Now that it’s not just me, now that a few years have passed...” 

Ameera’s face fell and she seemed thoughtful, even regretful for a moment. Nicolo observed them quietly, looking extremely focused.

“Oh, Yusuf,” was all that came out of her mouth at last. It was so soft, that Yusuf wondered whether she meant to say it out loud at all, “I wish I could deliver you good news, I wish I was able to use my mind to find you an answer... I tried, ever since we met, I have reached scholars in Baghdad on behalf of Ibrahim, only to come up with nothing.”

Her voice sounded so sorrowful, as if she’s been in this along with Yusuf and Nicolo, and was hearing the words instead of saying them. 

Yusuf’s eyes dropped to his glass, followed the steam rising from it, his mind turning from hope to disappointment within seconds.

“Nothing?” He repeated. 

It felt as if the word might not be true, as if coming from him it would somehow take on a different meaning.

Ameera gave him another glance before looking at Nicolo with the same dismayed expression. 

“I am sorry, my dears. But I hold no answers.”

“But do you know who would?” Yusuf demanded, and the urgency in his voice caught him off guard along with everybody else, “Somebody somewhere has to know, don’t they?”

“Perhaps someone does,” Ameera agreed, “But let me ask you, would knowing make any difference? I asked myself that for the longest time, and have come to no good answer.”

She let both of them think on it as they sat in silence. Yusuf didn’t look at her, too focused on his own thoughts to pay either of the two any attention. 

If no one had any idea what they were and why they were this way... What else was there to do? 

“There are libraries all over this world... In Constantinople, in Nicolo’s lands, there’s one I wasn’t able to reach in Cairo,” Ameera spoke again, pursing her lips as if the thought offended her somehow, “It is smaller than the one in Baghdad, and there’s a very slim chance someone there would know better, but...”

She paused, and Yusuf knew there was nothing more she had to say.

“Cairo,” Yusuf scoffed at the word before a glance from Nicolo stopped him in his tracks.

“Maybe we should go there,” the man suggested slowly, a shade of vulnerability to the way he posed the question - wistfully, desperately.

Yusuf’s first instinct was to tell him that it was too far away, and most likely a yet another dead end at that, but then he thought about it. 

Nicolo arrived from the lands much further away than Cairo... And even if the trip would be a wasted effort - they were caught together between a rock and a hard place, there was nowhere they could go where either one or both of them wouldn’t be ill-favoured.

In the end however, what made up his mind was a memory - the look in Nicolo’s eye from just last night, when he thought they were no longer to travel together. However far Cairo was, it was nowhere as far as Yusuf was willing to go not to see that look again.

“Maybe we should,” he muttered, barely even noticing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of a roller-coaster, but we hope you enjoy it <3  
> ~A&K


	10. IN TIME

Nicolo

Damascus, June 1098

  
  


No longer dispirited by the thought of parting ways with Yusuf, Nicolo had grown attached to Ameera, and by extension to Ibrahim, who had warmed up to him at last, as far as to even engage in religious discussions every once in a while. Yusuf quite often joined those, translating when needed and weighing in. 

By Ameera’s firm hand, Nicolo had learnt how to cook more - which he found unexpectedly enjoyable - and how to identify some herbs and spices even Yusuf didn’t know. He had felt, by the time Yusuf suggested they move on, that he was starting to become an equal to him in the ways of the land. 

Yusuf, despite Nicolo’s initial trepidation, was delighted to have another set of skills added to his own, never once thinking it intimidating or being put off by it.

Days have passed, Nicolo tried not to count them as he let himself feel more at home than he felt in a long time, Ameera indulging him in her studies and demanding he taught her whatever he could remember from his time in the monastery. He was happy to find that he remembered his studies better than he initially expected, and then there was Ameera and her endless eagerness to soak up as much knowledge as she could in as much time as she had, constantly writing down things she didn’t trust her memory with. This was how he learned of the cursive Arabic writing that was in its own right beautiful, yet still a complete mystery to Nicolo. He asked her, one time, to teach him some of it, but she had smiled and put the task on Yusuf’s shoulders instead, not before telling him she would pack him a book or two to read once he got a proper grasp on the written language. 

True to her word, as they were preparing to leave in the morning of what could’ve been seventh or tenth day of their stay, she had slipped a leather-bound book and a similarly sized linen-wrapped package into Nicolo’s bag, taking him aside and letting him know that the package was for Yusuf, and the other for him - a book filled with recipes, sayings and thoughts from her own mind. 

She had made him vow to bring it back to her, some day.

Nicolo had hoped his expression showed the gratitude he felt, as words didn’t seem to be enough to articulate it. Ameera looked at him then, with the soft look of hers - the one he thought was reserved only for Yusuf - and hugged him tight.

As much as he enjoyed his stay in the city however, Nicolo couldn’t help but welcome the familiar rhythm of being back on the road with Yusuf. It was nice to be able to talk without worrying about including anyone else, which quickly led them to switch between Italian - which Yusuf grasped with such readiness and ease, Nicolo couldn’t help but be in awe of - and Arabic, which still confounded Nicolo with its variety and distinction even as he thought that he was getting quite good at it. 

Uncharacteristically, it was Yusuf who looked agitated, glancing back every now and then, his eyes first searching and then somehow unresolved. At first Nicolo thought that maybe he was reluctant to leave Damascus after all, maybe Nicolo’s suggesting they go to Cairo made him feel obliged to leave, even against his wishes. But as the city faded from view on the trembling horizon, Yusuf continued doing this.

In the end Nicolo simply urged Hilal on to walk beside Aftab, and attempted to distract Yusuf with conversation.

They spoke a little of the path to Jerusalem - the next stop on the way, the stop that made Nicolo equal parts eager and apprehensive. The further away from Damascus they went however, the greener the path became. Even in the fast approaching summer, the landscape around them wasn’t affected by the heat, and Nicolo came to the realisation that he loved the breeze that passed them by as they started their ascent towards the mountains. 

They were different from the mountain crossing they took on the way to Damascus, and he could barely see the mountain’s peak on the horizon. Surely, the mountain wasn’t the tallest he had seen, but at that moment it felt tall enough to be mesmerised by. 

“Should we not go?” Yusuf asked suddenly, the last subject of conversation still on his mind. “To Jerusalem, I mean. We can cut around to the coastline, maybe sail to Alexandria...”

Nicolo felt a frown taking over his face. He might’ve been apprehensive, yes, but to avoid the holy city entirely? No, he didn’t think he wanted that, not with the thoughts churning in his head… It occurred to him back in Damascus, during one of the conversations about the crusade with Ibrahim, and it wouldn’t leave his mind since. Nicolo knew so much - so much about the cause he no longer believed in, so much about an army that should’ve never crossed over into this land… Wasn’t it his obligation thus, to warn Jerusalem? Whatever the risks…

He couldn’t decide, couldn’t make himself ask that much of Yusuf, after he'd already put himself in so much danger for Nicolo. It wouldn’t be fair.

And regardless, marine travel made him shudder even thinking about it - he had one bad experience too many with the whole endeavour, and would do anything he could to stay on dry land, any other agenda notwithstanding.

“I’m not,” he began slowly, searching for the correct term, “Entirely fond of boats.”

Yusuf looked at him, his attempt at figuring out what Nicolo’s sentence could possibly mean evident on his face. 

A few more moments passed, and Yusuf’s expression turned fond, a soft smile across his features - Nicolo could tell he was about to be teased. 

“What have boats ever done to you?” Yusuf asked. “They’re a valid means of transportation!”

Nicolo shook his head slowly, as usual, fighting back a smile as he looked back at the man.

“Before I discovered my immortality,” he started, “I sailed one of your valid means of transportation from Bari to Dyrrhachium. It wasn’t a very long journey, but the sea was uneasy and we lost our way. Needless to say it wasn’t the most pleasant time - restless men crammed in with their horses and cargo. A fever spread through fast. I caught it as well with how my constitution used to be. It didn’t let up all the way to Constantinople…”

Something Nicolo said must have taken Yusuf’s attention, as the smile evaporated from his face in a flash, like it hadn’t been there to begin with. 

Aftab halted as Yusuf pulled on the reins slightly, causing Hilal - who had been following with the other horse’s actions daily now - to stop as well. 

“When did you heal?” Yusuf asked, something demanding crossing into his speech.

Nicolo felt his brows knit together in confusion as he thought of the answer.

“We stood for camp two days away from Constantinople,” he explained, “I was pretty poorly at that point, I thought I might die without ever reaching the battlefield I so dreamed of. I was wrong of course, the first time I died was at Nicaea. My fever broke that very night at the camp... Come to think of it, that was the first night I dreamt of you.” 

“Nicolo,” Yusuf said, his expression softened once more and another smile halfway to his lips. It was a different kind of smile, Nicolo saw, as he had come to pick up on the small differences in Yusuf’s expressions. He had so many different smiles, all meaning something else, as did the creases in his brows, none of which meant the same. “I think your first death was that night at the camp.”

Nicolo was stunned, untethered for a moment, wishing that something would hold him in place…

He knew he would die that night - of course he knew, could feel the clammy touch of oblivion, and yet he held on so tightly, so stubbornly - it was no wonder really, that he didn’t realise… Of course Yusuf had to be right - the man had discovered his immortality years before Nicolo did, and yet Nicolo never dreamt of him until that night, until the night it was more imperative than ever before for him to know that he wasn’t alone, that he wouldn’t be. 

People were born alone and died alone, but not them, whatever they might be… They were connected, destined to find each other in their inexplicable afterlife.

“I think you might be right, my friend,” he muttered numbly, still awestruck, “I think I got it wrong before… All of it.”

Yusuf chuckled, but it was once again different from his usual joking manner. It seemed as if he got what he wanted out of the conversation, but still didn’t urge the horses forwards, and Nicolo waited for his reply. 

“Tell me then, what else could you possibly have gotten wrong?” 

His tone was incredulous, but in a good kind of way. It reminded Nicolo how old friends often spoke to one another, with no regard for shame or civilities.

“Don’t you see?” Nicolo breathed, his eyes so wide he thought for a second he could take in the entire world, “You and I, and the others we dream of! It’s not a forewarning, nor is it a premonition… It’s a promise in time - like destiny!”

Yusuf grinned widely, and it filled Nicolo with inexplicable warmth for having drawn such an emotion from him. Yusuf, since the day Nicolo had met him on the battlefield - maybe even before that, in his dreams - had always been a man who excelled at expressing his emotions. Despite that, each time Nicolo witnessed one of them - had been a cause for Yusuf’s joy - it made him feel impossibly accomplished.

Yusuf had put his hand on Nicolo’s shoulder, the touch grounding and too fleeting. 

“Always the philosopher,” he said and let his fingers be a comforting pressure for another moment, before taking his hand back and clicking his tongue, urging Aftab ahead.

_

  
  


They didn’t speak much afterwards - the gallop speed Yusuf had established leaving little room for conversation, and sooner rather than later, he slowed the rhythm down, pointing at a forest up ahead. Nicolo followed his line of sight, looking at a small hill covered with green trees - seemingly the obvious place to set up camp. From there, Yusuf pushed them forwards, only slowing again once they were surrounded by trees. He stopped Aftab in one of the clearings, small enough to guard but not too narrow to feel trapped in. 

Nicolo was happy to learn that they still moved around each other with ease, tending to their own chores in perfect harmony, as though they never left the open road. Much later, after Yusuf set up the fire and finished his prayers for the evening, the two of them cooked together, as much as they were able to. Nicolo could do more now, constantly reminded of Ameera’s advice and soon they were seated side by side with the horses in front of them, sharing bread and having dinner.

“I just remembered,” Nicolo jumped suddenly, setting his bowl aside and turning to the bags.

He rummaged in his for a moment until his fingers met with a sturdy square wrapped in linen. He pulled it out and handed the package to Yusuf.

“It’s from Ameera,” he explained.

Yusuf examined the wrapping, a curious look on his face. He nodded at Nicolo his wordless thanks, and opened it. 

Nicolo couldn’t help himself as he took in Yusuf’s reactions, from confusion to surprise and then awe as he removed the linen and held out a small leather bound book. It matched the notebook Ameera had given Nicolo exactly, but it came with a small pouch filled with coal, a bottle of ink and a quill.

Yusuf put the pouch with its contents in between them, and opened the book, revealing plain paper waiting to be filled. He didn’t say anything for a while, only traced the first pages with his hand.

“It’s blank?” Nicolo wondered, watching the man’s fingers tenderly moving across the white sheets in a mesmerising pattern.

“Yes,” Yusuf exhaled the word, not quite believing his eyes, it looked like. “It’s a sketchbook,” he said after a moment. 

Before Nicolo could ask, he repeated the word in Greek, and then it all fell into place. 

“I used to draw a lot, growing up... I lost the one I had before a while ago - at the time of my first death - with the rest of my belongings when the cavern was robbed.”

Yusuf sighed, apparently only now becoming aware of his hand, stared at it for a second, flexed his fingers and finally closed the book with strange decisiveness. 

Nicolo watched him set it aside and pack up the pouch with writing utensils.

“Aren’t you going to start a new sketchbook now?” He asked, demanded really, strangely disappointed with Yusuf’s apparent lack of inspiration. 

“Ah, it’s been years since I last drew,” the man replied, as usual seeing no reason to hold back his thoughts. “I wouldn’t know where to begin, even if I’m still able... I would hate to find out that I can’t do it anymore.”

Nicolo looked out to the horses, thinking about it… Yusuf had a gift - Ameera or Ibrahim had to have been right - Allah, or God, or nature was generous with blessings. He had a gift to make things last, to fix them in time and commit them to something sturdier than memories…

“It means Crescent Moon, doesn’t it?” He asked abruptly, his voice soft and alight with the realisation. 

Yusuf turned to look at him, surprised and amused by the sudden change of subject and language both, as Nicolo’s exclamation came in Italian.

“Hilal?” He asked for clarification. At Nicolo’s nod, Yusuf smiled fondly at the horse, “That’s right. It seemed fitting... That night over Antioch the moon was new.”

It took Nicolo back - it seemed as if they were lost in time ever since Antioch, as if the time ceased where the two of them were concerned, and if it was up to Nicolo, it was never to catch up with them again.

“Would you draw him for me?” He asked, “It’s as you said: they aren’t immortal, so it would be nice to have something to remember him by…”

It took some effort to make his voice steady and casual enough, so as not to alarm Yusuf. Still, he wasn’t sure he entirely succeeded. 

Yusuf looked at Hilal, now playfully nibbling on Aftab’s back again. They did it a lot, Nicolo noticed, and it tugged slightly at his heart, how well their horses were bonding. 

“I couldn’t say no to such a request even if I wanted to...” Yusuf’s voice was quiet, but not in a bad way. The words were tender, and when he turned to look at Nicolo, a smile was matching his tone.

A new type of smile, Nicolo noticed.

Yusuf then took the pouch and the sketchbook again, opening the book on the right side. He grabbed a piece of coal, grimaced as if worried about ruining the paper, but finally let out a breath and made the first line, sharp and stark against the whiteness of the page. Nicolo pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his crossed arms, watching, unable to stop himself even if it was a nuisance to Yusuf. Whether this was the case, the man didn’t complain, only glanced up at the horses every now and then, his eyes narrowed in focus, while the dark shape took on familiar contours under his hands.

“What does Aftab mean?” Nicolo wondered out loud, banishing his earlier melancholy in favor of a lighter subject, “The word is unfamiliar to me.”

“It means sun,” Yusuf said; he smiled again and held the sketchbook out to look at the image and its subject side by side. “It’s Persian - I was in Egypt after the whole death business... The horse breeder I made the purchase from was Persian and he said that was Aftab’s name since he was a colt, and it just didn’t make sense to rename him after that.”

Nicolo hummed in appreciation. It suited the horse to be named that, and in the strangest way it suited Yusuf himself to be the rider of the sun, full of light and goodness as he was. In a way that seemed almost alien now, he thought of a blessing in his head, asking of God to keep the man in front of him safe from peril and in His good graces, whichever the god he prayed to might be.

On the page Hilal began to look as himself and not just any horse, which puzzled Nicolo, because no matter how he looked, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact details that amounted to the likeness, and yet it has been undeniable. It was nice to be around horses again, he decided... He didn’t think he could grow as attached to an animal as he did to Hilal in a very short time. And yet it brought Nicolo comfort to watch him fill out and grow stronger - an uncomplicated sort of happiness that could only come from doing good that was as undoubtable and easy to comprehend as caring for something that depended on him to survive. It made him reminiscent…

“My mother loved horses very much,” he murmured, speaking the words to help commit them to memory as much as to entertain Yusuf while he worked, “I must’ve been six or seven when a mare in our household gave birth. My mother took me to see the foal the next day - I don’t remember her face very well, but I know how she looked that day - so happy… She told me to choose the name for it, as when it grew up I would be its master. She wanted to teach me how to care for a horse and how to ride it. She died three months later, giving birth to my youngest sister.”

Yusuf’s hand over the page paused, just for a moment, before he looked at Nicolo and resumed his work. 

He didn’t appear sad, in a way. Whenever Nicolo thought of sharing this particular piece of his history he always figured people would be saddened by it, but Yusuf just seemed nostalgic, same as Nicolo. It was as if he was somehow transported to the same moment, to the same feeling, like they were sharing the same memory. 

Perhaps, they were more connected than Nicolo first thought… Yusuf did say he was connected enough, back in Damascus; maybe that’s what he’s meant.

“You must have very good memories of her,” Yusuf said, his voice drifting a little. “She must have been a great mother, the way you speak of her...“

“My elder sisters missed her a lot - they remembered her much better than I did. Most of what I’ve got are the memories of feelings, too fleeting to put into words well enough,” he tried to explain, “And then my father spoke about her a lot, so it was almost as if she was still around, almost as if I knew her.”

“Feelings are oftentimes better than memories,” Yusuf said. He took his time talking, too focused on his drawing, “Memories are nice, but they fade eventually. You remember bits of something good, of course, but some of the memories leave you... what you felt, that’s something you’ll never lose.”

The horses huffed and worried, and paced a bit, Aftab moving to hide Hilal from view, making Yusuf suddenly curse and complain. He clicked his tongue and called them, but the animals paid him no mind. In the end Nicolo had to stand up and walk over to soothe them, and then rearrange their positions until Yusuf could see Hilal clearly again.

After Nicolo sat back down, Yusuf smiled in quiet gratitude. He was very focused while drawing, grounded in a way that no other task made him. 

“What is the rest of your family like?” Yusuf asked after a time, “You rarely talk about them,” he added, as a matter of explanation.

Nicolo supposed he was right. He tried not to think about them too much; he learned to do that at a rather young age, having been sent away to the monastery for his studies. Now it was all but a habit, an unconscious defense that he kept up without even realising.

“Well,” he mused, unsure where to start, “My father is a winemaker. He made his craft quite profitable by dealing with the church and was going to marry a noble woman for title, but fell in love with my mother instead. Perhaps she was the only person who could curb his ambition… Still, after she passed he tasked us, his children, with achieving his dreams of grandeur. My sisters were given to the sons of noble men that my father had dealings with, and I was given to the Lord, under the assurance of the Pope that my service would be repaid with power and influence in due time.”

Nicolo scoffed at the thought. It seemed like a different life now - was a different life, someone else’s life.

While he spoke, Yusuf ceased drawing to have his undivided attention on Nicolo. He nodded when needed and pursed his lips by the time he was done with his story.

Nicolo wondered, for a moment, whether it seemed odd to Yusuf - his way of life. 

“So you had no choice in the matter?” The man asked, and to Nicolo’s shake of head he said, “What would you have chosen to do, given the opportunity?”

“I don’t suppose you’d very much like the person I used to be back then - before,” he trailed off unsure whether he wanted Yusuf to know, to comprehend. It took him a moment before he decided it was only fair, “Even without my father’s connections and aspirations I was prideful, conceited and self-righteous. And the church offered power like no other - power over the hearts and minds of all - peasant and king, and power at that that seemed god-given, undeniable, kind in its intentions and constraints. It was power synonyms with love, and thus had warped better men than myself in pursuit of it. I don’t suppose I would’ve stopped chasing it if I’d stayed. Maybe years later I would’ve risen in the ranks of clergy and recognized it for what it was, or maybe I would’ve gone after it to the very top and never knew. Either way it doesn’t matter anymore, I’m here now, and as you so rightly say the past is past.”

Nicolo realised, then, that as much of a personal quest as he made it to have Yusuf speechless, this wasn’t what he wanted him not to have the words over.

Perhaps he wanted Yusuf’s kindness, or his warm tone promising Nicolo that he was on his way to becoming a better man, or maybe even just a joke to alleviate the sudden tension in the air. But most importantly, he wanted Yusuf to assure him he that wouldn’t think badly of him, no ill between them over his past self. 

The more Yusuf took to answer though, the more anxious Nicolo became. The man stared at him for the longest time, like he was either stunned or restraining himself with all his might.

It must have been a lot to take in, Nicolo reckoned. A lot accept.

“Thank you for confiding in me,” Yusuf eventually said, and his words sounded rehearsed, like he went over them in his head before speaking.

Nicolo didn’t like it. He much preferred Yusuf to speak his mind without feeling the need to hold back his true thoughts. 

Unaware of Nicolo’s internal struggle however, Yusuf carried on. 

“It seems like a waste, though. You could have been a great leader to your people... Perhaps even lead them onto a true path of righteousness.”

The edge in Yusuf’s voice, the strange distant way in which he had said the words, made Nicolo try and make his own next phrase as clear and genuine as possible.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he implored, nearly pleaded, cursing himself for ever saying anything on the subject to begin with, “It is not who I am anymore.”

“I can see that,” was Yusuf’s only reply, “It is done.”

Nicolo felt his heart sink, but instead of walking away from him in anger, the man only handed him the book. Nicolo dropped his gaze to the open page, rather wishing for an excuse to look away than anything else - the thought of the drawing all but a distant memory at the face of his misgivings - and gaped. 

There was his horse in coal lines across the white paper, in unexpected, seemingly impossible detail. It was beautiful and lasting, and of Yusuf’s making. The man truly had luck with gifts…

“Thank you,” Nicolo breathed, too afraid to look up, as if the image would vanish unless his eyes held on to it, “This is extraordinary… I truly thank you.”

When he finally risked a glance away Yusuf smiled, quite sheepishly, and while Nicolo could tell he was still thinking of their previous subject, he accepted the praise nonetheless. 

“You’re welcome,” he said in Nicolo’s tongue, seeming adamant on this small courtesy.

Nicolo wanted to say so much more, ask so many more questions, but he was scared the time for personal revelations was over and that if he were to push, he would wind up even worse off than he already was... If only for once, he made himself settle for leaving well enough alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some backstories and realisations! What do think, guys? <3  
> ~A&K


	11. FORTRESS

Yusuf

Lands of Jerusalem, June 1098

  
  


What Nicolo had said stayed with Yusuf. Even days later he found it impossible to let go. He knew, in his own sensible mind, how Nicolo might take it should he know how it still occupied Yusuf’s thoughts, but he couldn’t help himself.

Nicolo had a life before, much the same as Yusuf. Except, Yusuf had a listless life of a mercenary, a lonely fate he doomed himself for the morning he left Tunis and his mother weeping behind. Nicolo - he could have been the voice of reason for his people, making them follow him in kindness instead of bloodshed. He had to wonder, as the hours in the night after night grew unbearably longer with the weight of his thoughts, whether Nicolo would have returned to those duties if Yusuf never pulled him out of the battleground.

It seemed fitting, as the doubts plagued him, that they would enter the lands of Jerusalem - the holiest of places, even in these times of war. They crossed the border in the last light of the day before, and Yusuf found them somewhere to camp in another forest clearing. He had hoped his reflection over the matter in the past few days didn’t bother Nicolo, but Yusuf still tried to make up for it, showing the man that he was accepted and cared for more than ever. 

Normally, Yusuf wasn’t one for pretending, but if Nicolo saw through him, he didn’t mention it. They carried on, as usual, exchanging stories and doing chores around camp when needed, moving peacefully and comfortably around each other. These were the times Yusuf could pretend most easily - when he had Nicolo to distract him from his own mind.

At first light, as usual, the man woke him for his prayers - a task that Nicolo held in great esteem for some reason - and Yusuf had done what he did every single time, though his mind wasn’t as focused as it usually was. Nicolo seemed content - after the first few times that he watched him - to tend to his own morning routine, but what caught Yusuf’s attention as he rolled up his sajjāda, was the sharp spark of metal reflected at him from Nicolo’s sword.

The man didn’t pay him attention yet, and it gave Yusuf the time to observe him in a way he didn’t have the opportunity to yet.

Nicolo was clearly talented with a bow, but his swordsmanship wasn’t far behind at all. His stance was different from Yusuf’s, and he moved the weapon with precision and technique that must’ve taken years of training. It was a blessed luxury to be able to fully examine the moves that usually turned against him, the power and control of Nicolo’s actions, the overwhelming concentration on his face. 

An idea came to mind then, and Yusuf gave Nicolo one last moment of focus before bending over and pulling his scimitar from its sheath. Yusuf timed his steps, made them quiet and careful in order to get close enough to meet Nicolo’s next turn.

He saw the flash of surprise in the man’s bright eyes when he realised Yusuf was in a way of his blade a moment too late to stop it. Yusuf only sidestepped and deflected steel with steel, striking sparks with the force of their weapons colliding, making Nicolo stagger and break his perfect form for a second before he recovered. 

The playfulness came naturally, easily into his voice for the first time in days. 

“Once you’re done with your imaginary opponent, may I offer a friendly competition to prove the better swordsman?”

Nicolo lowered his sword as he turned, but didn’t put it away, which was promising. His eyes, as they so often did, searched Yusuf’s features for answers to the questions he never deemed necessary to voice.

“You seem very self assured, considering the last time you found yourself on the sharp end of this blade,” He smiled at last, looking Yusuf’s relaxed stance up and down.

Yusuf smiled, all previous thoughts abandoned. 

“You got lucky, which is a misfortune I am willing to amend,” he said. He moved his limbs a bit, flexed his back, his body too relaxed after days without a fight. “What do you say, then?”

In place of words, Nicolo only raised his sword again, his stance low and the blade perfectly still in the air, gripped tight in both hands. He waited for Yusuf, and laughing softly under his breath, he obliged.

Travelling together seemed to make Nicolo more attuned to Yusuf’s movements than he could’ve ever expected. He turned and circled, and feigned lunges that would’ve - and did confuse Nicolo on several battlefields, yet this time he seemed to anticipate everything Yusuf had to throw at him. Every time he thought he would touch Nicolo, the man simply stepped away or raised his sword just right to keep him at bay.

“When you said competition, I thought you meant now,” Nicolo noted pointedly, his usually barely-there smile growing wider.

Yusuf laughed, taking real joy in how the atmosphere between them turned lighthearted all of the sudden. 

“Come now, didn’t you say hubris is a sin? We don’t want to corrupt you, do we,” Yusuf jabbed.

Nicolo responded with a chuckle of his own, looked away for a second and finally charged Yusuf himself. It was a familiar technique, and yet Nicolo seemed to go about it in a way that was new and unexpected, finally adapting to Yusuf’s fighting style in full. Yusuf parried his blow and fainted to the side, but his mind was on his sudden revelation. He had finally made sense of it - Nicolo must’ve been observing him, learning him, coordinating with him. It was Yusuf who’s been too self-assured, too reliant on his tried old tricks, growing complacent with his usual easy victories.

It was his turn to learn, and once he began - following Nicolo’s movements, pinpointing his weaknesses, admiring his strengths - the fight became almost a dance, a clashing of blades in a wordless hello followed by an urgent farewell, Nicolo’s body like mercury, like quicksilver, and himself like a moth in the flames. 

Still, in what felt like hours of sparring they managed to only barely nick each other once or twice, apparently too well-matched, until finally Nicolo’s eyes sparked with eagerness and insight. He repeated the same move he attempted only a blink ago, a low diagonal blow that Yusuf avoided by slipping out of the way, rather than attempting to meet Nicolo’s blade with his own. Yusuf did the same thing again, a step back, arms wide to help his balance, but instead of giving himself a chance to recover, Nicolo whirled around with the force of his attack and followed it with a piercing blow. The same second Yusuf appraised his position, seeing an opening of his own.

Nicolo might’ve spiked him through - the sensation Yusuf remembered all too well, even if the consequences didn’t last - but with the same unwavering control and precision that he applied to everything else, the man let just the tip of his sword poke Yusuf’s chest lightly, without as much as a scratch. Yusuf might’ve loosened his grip only fractionaly, and his scimitar would’ve cut the other’s man throat, causing him to bleed out in a manner of seconds, but for him it was no question of decision. It was as if his very nature had changed its course, making it impossible for him to hurt NIcolo, making it unbearable.

They froze that way, in the stalemate, breathing fast, eyes locked.

“I call a draw,” Yusuf said, heaving as he tried to speak clearly enough to be understood. 

They could keep this up for hours, Yusuf knew - they had done that for hours on end - but midday was approaching and he would rather not die of sunstroke if he could help it.

“I could’ve done that just as well with my imaginary opponent,” Nicolo retorted, but his lips stretched in a subtle smile that usually accompanied his more understated jokes.

“Is that so?” Yusuf asked, attempting nonchalance despite his breathless state. 

He waited for Nicolo’s nod, neither of them moving an inch. When it didn’t come, he smirked and wrapped his heel around Nicolo’s shin, pulling on his leg and overthrowing him to the ground.

Once he crashed though, and Yusuf turned pointedly to walk away with at least a pretence of victory, he felt the flat of the man’s sword with his calves, the force of the smack making him land not to far from Nicolo himself, the ground knocking the breath he just barely recovered out of him.

“Hubris is indeed a sin,” Nicolo said, looking sideways at Yusuf’s form, mischief in his eyes.

Yusuf was stunned for just a moment, before he started laughing, his whole body moving as he stared up at the small patch of clear sky unhidden by the branches of the trees.

Nicolo joined him in his laugh, and for a while Yusuf was just content to have them stay there for the rest of the day. He didn’t linger though, and far too soon stood up, moving to Nicolo’s side to extend a hand and help him up. 

They disbanded the camp in the same way they had done in the past, not taking too long but also not necessarily in any hurry. Still, in what felt like no time they were on the road again, riding side by side as far as the trail allowed it. 

They carried on in the forest for most of the day, once again stopping at midday as it became too hot to keep on going, only to move again once the sun’s rays eased their scorching a bit.

Yusuf was familiar with the way to Jerusalem from Damascus, but he still needed to get his bearings every now and then, and thankfully he didn’t miscalculate their way as they went up a hill too much, emerging on the other side of the forest.

The expanse of the land before them was equally as green, but this time even. Yusuf stopped them to look at it from above, the earth colouring in vibrant tones of the sunset. He wanted Nicolo to see it the way he could - see the unpresumptuous beauty of it all, the glory of perseverance and life. Still, all he could do was take him to the proverbial stream, and leave him to drink on his own. Looking at Nicolo’s expression though, the softness in his eyes, Yusuf thought he understood.

By the time they made it down the hill to the planes below the sun had already set and Yusuf worried about finding camp for the night in the falling dusk. They didn’t make it too far however, before something caught Nicolo’s eye on the dim horizon.

“Can you see that?” He pointed, making sure Yusuf followed his gaze, “What is that? A fire?”

Surely enough, there was a ghostly plume of smoke rising into the air from a distant spark.

“We should probably scout the area,” Yusuf nodded grimly, his earlier happiness giving way to familiar anxiety, “I don’t want us to be ambushed again.”

Nicolo’s simple nod was his only answer, and Yusuf knew they were thinking the same thing.

“Let’s move closer,” he said. “Then once we’re near enough I’ll go ahead and see what we’re dealing with, while you keep watch with the bow.”

It took them some time to find a good position, far enough that Nicolo had a clear view of the whole camp and close enough that his arrows would reach their mark if need be. There Yusuf left him and the horses, the near-complete darkness giving him plenty of cover to get close enough to the resting stop to hear the voices of the people around the fire.

To Yusuf’s utter shock, they were barely old enough to carry swords, and swords they had in plenty. The boys spoke carelessly in loud voices, laughter erupting and fading around them in waves, leaving him no alternative but to listen.

“Should be a week from now,” one of them said.

He sat the furthest away from where Yusuf was, and talked with his hands in a way most kids did when bursting with enthusiasm. 

“Think, boys, in one week from now we would achieve glory - we would take our fate into our own hands!”

The rest of them - four in number, five including the speaker - cheered as Yusuf tried to understand what he was referring to. He had heard speeches similar to this when he was on the road to war, being told by far better men than this child, but he couldn’t have meant-

“To glory in Antioch!” They all said in union, probably having practiced the call before.

Yusuf sighed. There was no real threat from them other than their stupidity.

Still, he took caution returning to Nicolo, unwilling the young heroes to grab for their swords and wind up in an early grave - or at least earlier than they otherwise would. Nicolo only eased the draw of his bow once Yusuf was safely by his side, making the latter wonder if the former even took a breath for all the time he was gone.

Nicolo looked at him expectantly, a question in his eyes.

“Five of them, fourteen maybe fifteen years of age,” Yusuf reported, “Aren’t very bright, but it’ll only work in our favor. We’ll have to put some land before setting camp of our own though - I don’t want them to come looking, they’re already too sword-happy as it is.”

Nicolo nodded, letting out a sigh of relief so potent that it made Yusuf purse his lips. Was he that alarmed? Yusuf wouldn’t blame him, not after what came to pass near Hama, but it did make his earlier worries rear their ugly head… 

Nicolo wasn’t made for this, he remembered, his world should’ve been very different, much more peaceful and safe, and yet he was putting himself through peril after peril to what end? And what after that end, after they found their answers or discovered yet again there were none to find?

“What are they doing here?” Nicolo’s quiet question interrupted his thoughts running away with him. 

“They are looking to go to Antioch, probably to foolishly give their life for glory or some such nonsense...” he trailed off, suddenly realising what he had said. 

He shouldn’t have used those words, that phrasing, but it was out in the world now. Nicolo looked away, a pained look crossing his face, deepening Yusuf’s discontent.

“They’re children,” Nicolo mouthed, his eyes falling shut.

“I was their age when I picked up my sword and went on the road,” Yusuf attempted to amend, watching Nicolo put away the bow, apparently for something to do, and then simply pace around.

“Isn’t it different now though?” He asked with urgency, the volume of his voice higher than Yusuf would’ve liked all things considered, “There’s war brewing. They’ll be dead before they get a chance to become half the men that you’ve become!” A thought seemed to cross his mind then, taking him in a different direction, more disheartening even than the one before. “And then if you weren’t immortal? This world could do with more good men, Yusuf.”

He looked at Nicolo, the faded light of the day just enough to make out his face. He gave the man’s words some thought, understanding the sentiment, but also at a loss of what exactly Nicolo asked of him. 

Half the man he became, he said, and in his frenzied speech he must have meant it... It made Yusuf wonder how had Nicolo still managed to see him in such a bright light. 

“What would you have us do, then?” He asked instead.

This stopped Nicolo in his tracks. For a second he seemed frozen, thinking of something that looked to bring him a fraction of peace, and then finally gazed at Yusuf again.

“We have to warn them,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious, the most indisputable truth, “We have to steer them right.”

Yusuf wished he was able to show Nicolo how stubborn his people could be, but some part of him also warmed at the thought of Nicolo so needing to help... 

“These are kids in dumb need to prove something,” Yusuf said, “What would you say to show them they are wrong?”

“The truth,” Nicolo replied, “It’s all I have and all I can offer, and maybe it won’t be enough, but maybe we save some lives for once instead of taking them! Isn’t it worth trying?”

_

  
  


Yusuf worked to make his steps if not loud, then at the very least audible as he approached the circle of light from the fire, burning as bright and high as before, Nicolo leading the horses a few paces back.

It didn’t help, the noise of the camp and the general air of freedom defeated his intentions.

“Well met,” he said, trying to reign in his frustration, as he finally caught the children’s attention.

They were well-prepared at least, decent armor, passable swords, provisions… And as soon as their eyes found him in the dark of course, the three who kept their swords close by grabbed onto the weapons, the others scrambling about in panic. Yusuf resisted clicking his tongue - if he wanted to kill or rob them, they would’ve been bleeding on the ground before they even drew the blades...

“We mean you no harm,” he assured them instead, glancing back at Nicolo mostly to make the group aware of him.

Yusuf wasn’t able to help it, the smile breaking over his face, refusing to be subdued. The idea of Nicolo spending his time helping, saving other poor souls was admirable. Even Yusuf, with his extreme sense of justice and willingness to help, didn’t think of stopping to warn these fools. Perhaps his life as a mercenary had tainted him more than he thought…

“Who are you?” One of them called out, his voice breaking in a way that made Yusuf suppress a laugh, “Show yourselves!”

Yusuf nodded, raising his hands up to show he meant no harm, and came fully into the light.

“I am Yusuf al Kaysani,” he replied, “And this is my companion.”

“Have your companion approach,” one of the boys said, a quieter voice, eyes more alert. 

Yusuf felt suddenly unsure about the whole endeavour. Maybe their youth made him misjudge them… What if they wouldn’t listen at all? What were they to do if these children attacked now?

Before he could reconsider however, he saw the movement in the corner of his eye. Nicolo of course was more hopeful of goodness in people than he was. Yusuf watched him step into view and uncover his face.

The response had been immediate. Yusuf, in all honesty, didn’t expect anything different. These were kids - he had to remind himself - not used to Nicolo’s pale face or bright eyes. He could only have guessed the stories they heard that made them decide to travel to Antioch, and it was undoubtedly the same ones he heard not too long ago.

Prejudice was a fault both sides carried, justified or not.

They didn’t know any better, Yusuf told himself again as they rose to their feet, swords halfway unsheathed. He forced his body to relax and not raise his own weapon in defiance as he moved slightly ahead of Nicolo to shield him should it come to the worst.

He hoped to look as gentle as possible when speaking again though, like one would approaching a wild animal. 

“Please be calm,” he said, his Arabic clear and unhurried so Nicolo would be able to catch on too. “This is my friend, Nicolo - we mean you no harm.”

“An invader!” One of the boys said, the one on the far left, his hand almost all the way to his bow.

Yusuf doubted he would be able to draw it fast enough.

“We shall have the first taste of blood tonight!” Another one exclaimed.

Yusuf battled against rolling his eyes. They were children, his heart said once more, seeming unable to stop. 

“You shall not taste blood tonight, or any other night,” he argued, holding his hands to his sides again. “Nicolo is not the enemy, and you should be thankful that he took the time to stop for you. Now, who leads you?”

Something in his tone must have threatened or confused them enough to have the first boy who spoke earlier gesture at them to lower their guard and listen. 

The so-called leader, Yusuf supposed.

“Very well,” the boy spoke, straightening his posture in an attempt to look more authoritative.

Yusuf wasn’t fooled and he didn’t think Nicolo was either. 

“What do you mean for us, if not harm?” He asked, as a murmur of agreements sounded from his fellow brother in arms.

“I am Nicolo di Genoa,” Nicolo began quietly, cutting Yusuf off just as he was about to give his own irritable retort, “I have come into this land with the army you wish to give your lives fighting against. Justly so, as one would want to defend their land from invaders. You are within your right, but I mean to give you warning-” 

“You said he’s not the enemy,” the child leader accused Yusuf, refusing to look at Nicolo now. 

“Just listen,” Yusuf sighed, giving Nicolo what he hoped was an encouraging glance.

“I am no longer a part of that army,” the man continued, as calmly as if he was never interrupted, “I no longer believe as they do and I no longer think they are within right doing what they do. And yet I know of their strength, I know of their danger. Antioch is fallen, it will not be reclaimed by disjoined bands of warriors - it would take great numbers and yet greater efforts to take it back. But there are still places where you can do good. Please, let us talk - what is your name?”

This last question he addressed to the one who looked to be in charge.

“Muhammad ibn Abdullah,” the boy slowly muttered, apparently unable to take his eyes off Nicolo. 

Yusuf could see why. When he spoke, there was a shift in the air; his voice so free of judgment or of ill will, only seeking to help and guide. Nicolo at his utmost was such an undeniable force of goodness, such a soothing presence, Yusuf could not imagine a place in the world where he would be unwanted. 

He was once again assured that if there was to be a purpose to their existence, this was what Nicolo came to this world to achieve - to be heard, to be listened to by all men, women and children, peasant and king - just as his men had promised him. It was a concerning thought, the same one he had tried to keep clear of before, but wasn’t able to anymore…

Nicolo might not have thought himself worthy of such a role or fit for such fate, but he obviously didn’t see himself very clearly. Yusuf did - he saw the light, the power, the compassion - and yet he remained in Nicolo’s way, steering him wrong, steering him off his course…

The bitter truth was that this - the open road, the occasional passer-by, the endless violence - was all he had to offer Nicolo, and it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. Nicolo’s mind was a fortress of stone reaching into the skies above and he was just a man at the feet of it, too small to ever measure up. 

“It is nice to meet you,” Nicolo bowed his head, unaware, “If you would allow us to stay, I shall tell you about things in the north…”

They ended up in a tentative truce - the children having enough sense to hear them out, but too wary to let go of their weapons. Probably rightly so - Yusuf, at least, was glad they weren’t entirely without caution. It took Nicolo a while to answer all of their questions about the numbers of the crusaders and the will of their leaders, as well as their ways of battle - some of the things Yusuf himself found he didn’t realise before. 

“There are places where you can still help however,” Nicolo assured them in the end, “We make our way from Damascus - it is still free and full of innocents that cannot protect themselves. Perhaps you would consider applying yourself there. Yusuf has friends in the city who could aid in your efforts.”

Nicolo looked questioningly at him then, a small private smile softening his features so imperceptibly, Yusuf doubted that anyone other than himself would even know it was there. 

He allowed himself to smile back before turning to look at the boys again. Their features had softened as well it looked like, two of them even relieved, and Yusuf knew it had to do more with Nicolo’s words of delay even than their apparent lack of interest in harming these children.

Yusuf could only nod to support Nicolo’s claim, unwilling to interrupt. 

“The fight is lost, then?” one of them asked.

This seemed to catch Nicolo off guard. His tranquility wavered only for a moment, replaced by a sudden ache that Yusuf could feel echoes of in his very bones.

“We fight for what we believe in,” he responded in the end, “This is what people do. The fight is never lost until we give up, and the fight is never over, not until there are still those who are willing to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you count the innuendos in that sparring scene on the fingers of one hand - probably, is it still one too many - yeah! We have a sense of humour of your average second-grader, but hey - we can't have these two hurting for too long cause it absolutely breaks our hearts! What do you think about the chapter?  
> ~A&K
> 
> P.S. Feel free to google Abu Bakr al-Arabi (Muhammad ibn Abdullah ibn Muhammad ibn Abdullah ibn Ahmad al Asybali al Maliki), he grows up to be a pretty cool historic personality, although we changed his life’s timeline a bit to have him in the story ;) Thanks to Reyb18 for helping us get it right with him and sorry for any and all mistakes, those are our own! Feel free to reach out and correct us anytime.


	12. ANCHOR

Nicolo

Jerusalem, June 1098

  
  


Jerusalem’s walls were a sight to behold. 

Nicolo had seen once paintings of the city, declaring its grandiosity and magnificence in a very simple, straightforward kind of way, and had always thought the painters - a skill he didn’t think he was able to possess himself - did it the appropriate justice.

Seeing it now however, he knew what he thought before had to be wrong. 

Yusuf either didn’t notice him gawking at the expanse of it or was kind enough to not say anything. He must have been in the city a fair few times in the past, with the way he manoeuvred them to enter, only stopping briefly to dismount. Nicolo was about to ask, as he himself only heard stories that seemed too far away now, when a commotion near the gates caught their attention.

Yusuf was ahead of him, so he was able to see the man’s frame tense abruptly, like the previous night when he was speaking to the boys at their camp, and had had enough time with him to know this was how Yusuf’s body got ready for trouble. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolo called softly, turning to look the same way.

There wasn’t much to see, nothing to be worried about as far as Nicolo could tell - just a man speaking to a group of whom he assumed to be citizens.

“What is this?” Yusuf asked loudly in Arabic, but as Nicolo opened his mouth to reply, he realised that the question had been directed to a nearby guard.

“He was in Antioch,” the guard said in a rough tongue that took NIcolo a second to comprehend. “He’s usually here during the day, going on about how we’re all going to die. It’s a nuisance, really...”

The guard seemed more concerned with the volume of the man’s preaching than his actual advice, but regardless, no one did anything to prevent him from speaking. Oddly enough... Nicolo would have thought they’d be happy to get rid of the man, but either the guards and the citizens were too accustomed, or they simply did not see any harm in it.

Nicolo didn’t hear the man’s exact words, and before he was able to approach enough to listen, Yusuf held him back by the forearm, preventing him from coming any closer 

“Do not waste your time,” he said in low enough Italian. “He will tell you nothing you don’t already know, and we have better things to do than speak to war ridden folk.”

Nicolo supposed Yusuf had a point. They didn’t have a lot of time in the city, no. But this made Nicolo even more anxious about the conversation he resolved to have with the man after meeting those children on the road. In the end they didn’t promise to abandon their mission entirely, but at least agreed to stop by Damascus and search out Ameera and Ibrahim. Nicolo only hoped that Ameera’s sage advice would be enough to dissuade them entirely...

He watched Yusuf as he let go, moving once again to the guard, asking for directions to the nearest inn with a stable, and they were on their way again. There was something off still, something amiss in Yusuf - his gaze became clouded and his expression hardened when he thought Nicolo wasn’t watching, in a way that made Nicolo’s insides churn with worry.

He tried to distract himself. The feeling of the city was so different from Damascus, or any other place he’s ever been to it was if not easy, then at least not entirely impossible. For the first time in a while Nicolo didn’t feel the need to hide his skin or his overall presence, and it was a welcomed change. No one looked at them as they crossed the streets, too narrow to walk side by side and filled with history Nicolo thought he could spend months, maybe even years learning. 

The inn was everything Nicolo expected it to be - a simple building, nothing too distinct about it, with a joined stable for their horses. He let Yusuf handle their lodgings while he stayed outside, brushing Hilal’s mane with his fingers and talking briefly to the stable boy as he came out to help Nicolo with unloading.

The room Yusuf led him to afterwards wasn’t very large or in other way remarkable either - pale clay walls, two cots on either side of the window, and a wash basin in the corner, but it was a roof over their heads, and Nicolo appreciated it. He sat down onto one of the cots, leaned his back against the wall and tried to exhale the heat that never seemed to fully fade away from his body these days.

When he opened his eyes, some words halfway to his lips, the force of Yusuf’s stare made him forget all about what he was meaning to say. It was as if the very sight of Nicolo was hurting him somehow, as if he was watching someone burning alive…

“Yusuf,” he whispered, unsure what he was going to say next, just as the man muttered:

“Nicolo, I-”

They both fell silent.

Yusuf sighed as he mirrored Nicolo’s way of sitting down on the other cot. 

He didn’t speak for the longest time, and Nicolo was just thinking whether he should say anything after all, when Yusuf murmured, “Go ahead,” as if reading his mind. 

Nicolo must have imagined the apprehension on his face, since there didn’t seem to be a reason for it… Yet.

“I was thinking, we should warn them,” he forced the words out like one would take bitter medicine, in a single swig.

Yusuf raised his head to properly look at him with a stare so sharp it almost made Nicolo wish he could take it back.

“Warn them?” He asked, not for the lack of understanding, Nicolo knew, as Yusuf carried on, “These... they aren’t children on the road,” he tried making a point, so Nicolo let the man take his time. “If they see you, if they would know what you were - they would have you beheaded before you get a word out.”

Nicolo thought about it long and hard, the same dilemma he was facing on his own for the past couple of days presented to him at a different angle. He made up his mind.

“Then we leave them no choice but to hear us out,” he told Yusuf in the end. 

_

“Just so you know, I don’t approve,” Yusuf said in what must have been the tenth time now. 

Nicolo thought that after the first three occasions on which the man got the same pointed look from him, he would have gotten the message. Yusuf, unfortunately, was too stubborn. 

“I really do not approve,” he had said to further emphasize his point, and when Nicolo turned to tell him to leave if he so wished, Yusuf's selling point was: “But you will need someone to reattach your head. That’s the only reason I’m going along with it.” 

The man sighed, then, like the idea alone was too much trouble to deal with, but Nicolo saw the small glint of a smile he tried to hide.

Instead of arguing the same old subject again, Nicolo looked around the corner as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, hiding behind the wall of coarse sandy stone the moment his eyes pinpointed the guards.

“Two,” he told Yusuf, “Walking our way.”

The man nodded and flexed his neck and shoulders in anticipation. These weren’t the first guards they encountered this night, and the meetings started to take their toll on their stamina if not health. But at least, thanks to days of preparation and observing the citadel, they timed their arrival right. It was still a few hours before dawn, but the sky was just light enough so the torches flickering out wouldn’t be as easily noticeable from the distant walls. 

Nicolo listened to the guards’ voices as they approached.

“This is ridiculous,” one of them said, the sound echoing in the cool near-morning air, “We should have been off by now.”

“I would pay half my salary for a nice bed...” the other one agreed, voice smudged by a yawn, making Nicolo snicker quietly, the sound barely audible over the guards’ chatter. 

He glanced at Yusuf and the same smile was playing on his lips. They nodded at each other a blink before the guards stepped from around the corner and moved in perfect synchronicity. It took them less than a second to incapacitate the men, Yusuf hitting the first immediately on the temple with the pommel of his sword, while Nicolo covered the other’s mouth, dragged him over to the wall and smashed his head against it.

He winced, knowing they wouldn’t have the best morning of their lives, just as Yusuf muttered:

“Sleep well,” to the bodies on the ground and jerked his chin at Nicolo, making sure he would follow.

Crouching low they crossed another section of the wall, until the entrance to Burj Dāwūd became visible in the distance. There was still light in the windows, which Nicolo wasn’t sure to be a good sign, but decided it didn’t particularly matter, since they were too close to walk away regardless of what awaited inside.

There were still more guards there, leaning tiredly against the walls on both sides of a heavy wooden door, and no feasible cover in between. As Nicolo looked to Yusuf with indecision, the man only shook his head and walked out, seemingly as carefree as if this was a casual stroll. Nicolo let out a long incredulous breath and followed, at least attempting to keep to the ground and out of sight from other vantage points in the citadel.

He noted the exact moment they saw Yusuf, a blink of confusion, hesitation and then their hands on the handles of their swords, leaning forward to see in the dim light.

“What is this?” He thought he heard one ask the other, and then: “You there! How did you get here? You shouldn’t be here!”

Yusuf only shook his head, close enough for a hand to hand at last, Nicolo just a few steps behind.

“Yes, this is what I keep telling him too,” he agreed amicably, tilting his head in Nicolo’s direction. 

The moment the guards turned their attention to him, Yusuf grabbed one and landed a few heavy punches with his knee to the man’s torso, knocking the air out of him and letting him tumble down. Before Nicolo could stop the other, he had his sword out, aiming a diagonal blow from above to Yusuf’s chest.

Nicolo grabbed his arm, halting the attack in midair and making the man groan loudly in irritation more than anything. As Nicolo kicked the weapon out of his hand, Yusuf grabbed him from behind, wrapping his elbow around the man’s throat and preventing him from breathing long enough to lose consciousness.

“Now who’s doing all the work,” Nicolo smirked at the grimace on Yusuf’s face as he considered whether the man in his hold was well enough under, and finally let him go.

“I would argue this is a tie,” he retorted, catching his breath before they moved on. 

Nicolo waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Ah, yes, of course, it’s always a tie with you when you lose!”

Yusuf laughed, the sound too low and breathless to carry, and bowed his head, gesturing to the door as if it was a grandiose gift. In a way, it was... Yusuf has not been happy about Nicolo’s reckless request and yet more reckless plan, and all things considered Nicolo half expected him to refuse. But despite all his arguments and complaints, and opinions there he was - risking everything for Nicolo again, as if it was the only possible thing to do.

Nicolo nodded, hoping his eyes communicated his gratitude in ways he doubted words ever could, and brushed his fingers against the cool rusted handle. 

_

At first when Nicolo entered the chamber at the very top of the stairs - cautious and out of breath - he thought it was empty. There was no one on a large bed occupying one side of the room, or behind a desk on the other side, even though there were candles burning everywhere. As he lowered his sword and stepped further into the room though, Yusuf caught him noiselessly by the elbow and pointed to a nondescript ottoman in the corner.

A man was draped over it in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, his head against the wall and a book pressed to his chest with loose fingers.

Nicolo shot Yusuf a questioning glance, to which he nodded. Yes, this was indeed the man they’ve been looking for - Iftikhar al-Dawla, the governor of Jerusalem. 

Nicolo exhaled in relief. 

“Honestly,” Yusuf muttered. 

He signalled for Nicolo to wait by the door as he approached the sleeping man, first.

Iftikhar, in all his glory, was a light sleeper, as it turned out. Yusuf didn’t even manage to get close enough to touch him before he woke up, his hand immediately on the dagger by his side.

“Not an enemy!” Yusuf said quickly, moving just out of reach as the man took him in. 

A look of recognition passed over him - Yusuf did say they knew each other some time ago, from one of Yusuf’s countless jobs as a mercenary - and held his hand out to the man, who chuckled and clasped it in his own to pull the other up. 

“Al-Kaysani,” he said in a manner of greeting. 

Yusuf bowed his head just a tad. 

“Governor,” he used the same tone. 

“I did not think I would see you again,” Iftikhar said, his lips pulled in a tight smile. “I would call my guards to hang you for interrupting my rest, but I suppose if you’re here, it means they’re not.”

Yusuf only laughed, and that was all the prompting the governor needed. He looked behind Yusuf to the door, where Nicolo hung back, his eyes growing large and a scowl taking over his angular features. 

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked Yusuf. 

“Believe it or not, we came to help.” 

Iftikhar’s eyes turned defiant, all sentiment other than contempt washed away. 

“By breaking into my chamber with a Frank holding a sword?” 

Nicolo thought Yusuf would say the same thing he did to the guards outside, how it wasn’t really his choice or how he did not approve again, but instead he watched the man move out of the way and to Nicolo’s side.

“You would not have listened otherwise,” he echoed Nicolo’s own reasoning and shrugged, “And trust me, you do want to listen - the fate of the city depends on it.”

Either Iftikhar held some sort of respect for Yusuf or he simply knew there was nothing he could do - it didn’t matter to Nicolo, who took his cue and moved forward.

Iftikhar wasted no time addressing him. 

“Well, speak. Who are you and why are you here?”

“I am Nicolo di Genoa,” he said calmly, forcing himself to come closer, to remember that the fate of the whole Jerusalem might depend on how well this goes, “I came into this land as a part of the army of Prince Bohemond of Taranto on behalf of Constantinople. I fought at Nicaea and Antioch, and saw their fall. I deserted the fight, but come here to you now in warning. Their goal is your city and they will come to capture it if it's the last thing they do, because that is how they believe. Their force at Antioch was twenty thousand strong, with trained knights and infantry. I am here to ask you - to implore you - call for help, strengthen your walls, protect your people.”

Iftikhar listened through Nicolo’s words, his eyes slowly narrowing and his chin lowering in nods along the way, but he didn’t say much once he was done. Nicolo was only able to imagine how difficult it must’ve been for him - to hear of true numbers, of proven intentions against his home and way of life… He waited.

Then the governor walked towards his desk, sitting behind it and gesturing to a map. Nicolo took one look at Yusuf by the door, who simply nodded and approached Iftikhar. 

“You speak my language well,” the man said, but it was directed to Yusuf rather than Nicolo, as he correctly guessed whose doing it really was. Then he turned casually to Nicolo, as calm as if they were discussing the weather. “But once a traitor of his men is forever a traitor.”

Yusuf huffed in irritation, the sound sharp over the silence in the room. 

“Watch your mouth, governor. The last thing you should say to a man who risked his neck to help you - especially this man before you - is that.”

Iftikhar was about to respond, his expression still neutral, indifferent almost, but Nicolo beat him to it.

“It’s alright, Yusuf,” he assured the man, half touched with being held in such high esteem and half irritated with the turn the conversation started taking, “I do not have a claim to your implicit trust, governor, as well as I don’t think you would be here now if you believed the words of every stranger who assured you in his good intentions. I am only here to do as much as I possibly can to make up for my past misdoings. You could take caution from my words, or you might not - that much is for you to decide. I’m only doing my part.”

Nicolo thought this would be the governor’s turn to lose his temper, but neither his dark calculating stare nor his patience wavered. Nicolo had no other choice but to wait again and listen.

“We know they are coming,” Iftikhar said at last, rubbing the remains of sleep from his eyes with his index finger and thumb, “We do not know how many there are now, when they are marching and how long they can last, but we do know.” He cast one glance at Yusuf, before putting his finger to the map again. “But there is no one willing to come for aid, as there is not much we can do against their weapon of a God.”

The weapon of God? Nicolo must’ve gotten his Arabic confused, but when he shot Yusuf a look for help, he only shrugged.

Nicolo voiced his question, unsure of the words.

“My spies have reported that a man of your people named Peter Bartholomew had discovered a relic that lay dormant in Antioch, foretold in a dream sent to him by your god. The relic is a spearhead that had the power to strengthen your army and destroy Kerbogha’s forces at the walls,” came the governor's reply.

Nicolo considered this, piecing together the fragments of what he’d known. He was aware that Prince Bohemond’s covert attack of the city was only approved by the other Crusade leaders because there was another army that was fast approaching to heed Antioch. They were too afraid to be ambushed by the city walls, cut off and obliterated. There weren't enough provisions to stand siege within the city, but at least there they would’ve had defences.

Nicolo had seen the city falling - the crusaders’ victory was inevitable even as himself and Yusuf left it behind, thus Kerbogha’s army had to have taken the positions the crusaders abandoned in favour of Antioch. He also knew of Peter Bartholomew - he was a part of Raymond of Saint-Gilles’ army - if not the man himself. 

“Peter Bartholomew is a blind madman,” Nicolo muttered to himself, confused that his insanity led the man to perform any kind of miracle, “A spearhead you said?”

Iftikhar nodded solemnly and took in a slow breath.

“Yes,” he mused, “There was another name for it.”

Nicolo didn’t understand it in Arabic again, but this time Yusuf translated it to Greek in the same breath.

“The Holy Lance?” Nicolo echoed, first shocked at the thought of it -  _ the very spear that pierced Jesus dying on the cross for their sins _ \- then doubt, and finally disbelief.

He knew his people too well - their superstitions, their passion, their hope - as well as he knew those who lorded over them, willing to use such gullibility in their favour any chance they got. Nicolo was sure that he came into this land guided by the same misplaced belief as those knights riding out of Antioch in religious fervor, assured that God was watching them, that God was leading them…

He laughed under his breath, but it sounded broken and sad.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf asked. 

His voice was low - an attempt to keep it between just the two of them, but Iftikhar caught that too, and he watched Nicolo for his reactions very carefully.

He shook his head, attempting to shake away the bitterness as he searched for the words to express what he knew in his heart to be true.

“I have seen miracles,” Nicolo managed at last, glancing at Yusuf - a walking proof of his words, if unbenounced to Iftikhar, “But those miracles aren’t in old relics - they are in the hearts and minds of men, and it is those minds that are capable of both extraordinary and unspeakable things. The Holy Lance is only as powerful as the faith of the people who possess it, no more. It is no weapon of God, it is a weapon of great cunning devised from desperation and insight. And if you can overtake them in matters of will, then you can withstand it.”

Something like conviction crossed Iftikhar’s features, causing the man to abandon any preconceived notions as to how the conversation might go along with all other ideas he might have had. Emotions ran clearly over his face, and either he wasn’t good at hiding them or he just didn’t care to anymore.

Either way, it served a purpose as Nicolo knew what to expect. 

Iftikhar didn’t push him further on the subject, it seemed like he didn’t care how he knew the things he knew, or maybe he was reassured by Nicolo’s words alone. Perhaps even what tied him and Yusuf together held some meaning.

Regardless, Iftikhar took his time with his questions, writing down each and every word from Nicolo’s mouth in fast sprawling strokes of his quill, not even looking at the man too much. The governor had asked him all of what he did not know of the previous sieges, and numbers, and their leaders, and Nicolo was only happy to oblige, hoping to help the man achieve a lead in the upcoming war. Iftikhar seemed impressed by the end of it, and the night outside became clearer as he leaned back in his seat, thanking the two of them.

“Have you considered staying to help, as per your own suggestion? I could use more knowledgeable allies,” Iftikhar asked as he escorted his uninvited guests across the room to the door.

Nicolo opened his mouth to answer, but Yusuf beat him to it. 

“We are not staying,” he said curtly, denying Nicolo a chance to as much as think of this offer. “We only came to give information, and we’ll be on our way.”

Iftikhar nodded, not at all surprised by Yusuf’s reaction. 

“Then I am sure you have more important dealings to attend to than watching yet another city fall,” he said and gestured at the door, dismissing them with a nod. “As you found your way in, I am more than convinced you can find your way out. May your travels be safe and may time be as kind to you as it seemed to be throughout these years, old friend.”

It was Yusuf’s turn to nod then, and there was something unspoken in the air between them. Nicolo wanted to ask, but Yusuf’s hand on his forearm, guiding him away, prevented him from doing so.

It was halfway back to the inn, on a drowsy Jerusalem street, that Nicolo finally found his voice to say: “Maybe we should stay? Think about it, Yusuf, how many warriors are we worth in a battle-”

Yusuf must have seen it coming at one point or the other, as he interrupted Nicolo by pushing them both out of the road, as not to alert anyone who might be about at such an hour.

“No,” Yusuf said, and words flew out of him in a burst of Italian, as he must have been worried about being overheard, “Think about what you’re suggesting, Nicolo! Let’s assume we stay, we fight, and we die. We rise up from the battlefield and then what? We will not be glorified as prophets - we will be taken away, locked up and who knows what else... and this is... this is not what we...” 

Yusuf broke off, like the thought alone was hurting him too much to bear, and Nicolo could relate to a part of it - he didn’t want them to suffer captivity either - yet there was more to it, something that made Yusuf’s voice breathless and tortured.

The man continued, though, unaware of Nicolo’s puzzlement, this time in Arabic, like he did whenever he spoke without thinking. 

“There is so much more for you to do than die in battle.”

Nicolo’s hand moved to Yusuf’s shoulder on its own accord, hesitating in the air only for a fraction of a second, before his fingers curled up in the man’s shirt, the warmth of his skin seeping through.

“But what else can we- What else can I do? Don’t you see that I am trying to amend evil that's my fault as much as anyone’s? How can I offer these people - your people - any less than the most I can give?”

“You don’t deserve to die,” Yusuf said again, and his voice sounded so small all of the sudden. Assured, confident and outspoken man that Nicolo came to know nowhere to be found, weighed down with something Nicolo didn’t like. 

“Whether you rise again or not, you don’t deserve to die in battle or any other way. You...” he paused again, holding the back of Nicolo’s hand on his shirt, leaving it there, as though Nicolo would be able to feel the sincerity of his words through the touch. “You should be allowed the choice of leading people away from evil, not giving your life and kindness away for those who do not deserve or appreciate it. You should use your voice to help and guide, not...” Yusuf cleared his throat then, squeezing Nicolo’s hand in a way that felt too fervent, too final. “Not wasting it walking these lands with me in hope for answers we most likely won’t receive. You deserve happiness...”

Nicolo spent one more moment searching Yusuf’s eyes, narrowed in frustration and desperation, and then it was as if someone lit a candle in his mind. This is what it was about - and to think that all this time he was sure Yusuf had judged him! Of course, he’s done so much worse - he fooled himself into believing the same vain lies that Nicolo himself took such a long time to be rid of… Only Yusuf didn’t wish any of those things for him out of selfishness or ambition, or for gain. Yusuf, as was the usual error of his ways it seemed, was entirely too admiring.

Suddenly Nicolo wanted to laugh and it was all he could do to hold himself back.

“Yusuf, I chose this path,” he spoke carefully, calmly, clearly instead, “With you. Not because it was an easy thing to do, but because traveling with you - being with you makes me a better man. In this short time that I’ve known you I’ve done more good than ever and I didn’t have to compromise on it once! And as for my happiness - I am the happiest I can remember. The things that plague your mind would be an impossibility were you never to sweep me from that battlefield, because the man I am now? Well, he wouldn’t be at all.”

Yusuf was only able to stare all the while Nicolo said his peace, and then some after the last word left his lips. Nicolo thought he had seen every and all emotions of Yusuf’s in however long they’ve known each other, but this was different. There was a moment of quiet, the force in Yusuf’s gaze that Nicolo couldn’t decipher, until he felt abruptly unsure, thinking back on his words, wondering if he’d said something wrong - if he said too much.

His anxiety exploding when Yusuf pushed Nicolo’s hand from his shirt, the gesture echoing with a pang of agony in his heart, until suddenly Yusuf pulled him back in, arms wrapping around him so tight, so fast that for a second Nicolo didn’t know what to do with himself.

And then he understood, felt what it was in Yusuf’s face before - relief. 

In the end his hands found home on the man’s shoulder blades, and fleetingly they felt like furled wings under his touch. Yusuf’s heartbeat traveled through his fingertips, through his bloodstream, surrounding him and commanding his own heart to the same beat - so powerful it felt like an earthquake. And like that they held on to each other - two travellers in the eye of the storm that couldn’t move them anymore, couldn’t touch them as long as they had an anchor as immovable as each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, we're both travelling this week, but the fic is still going great and we're even ahead of schedule, so expect return to regular programming starting next week ;) We hope you're still enjoying the story and please don't forget to tell us your thoughts of this chapter, your comments inspire us so much <3  
> ~A&K


	13. OBLIVION

Yusuf

Outskirts of Cairo, July 1098

  
  


They left Jerusalem eventually, having discussed staying in earnest and coming to a mutual conclusion that for the moment they’d be doing more good out on the road, but should the call for help come, they would return. 

The innkeeper of the place they were staying at overheard their plans to set off for Cairo next and had sent their way two families looking for armed guards to help them leave the city for Asqalan. Not directly on the way, but it was easy money and food would be provided for them; no less importantly, their wards were so happy about the help that no one thought to question Nicolo’s appearance.

The families saw them off with money and whatever provisions were left from the road, and Yusuf led them away along the coastline, promising Nicolo this would be as close as they’d get to the ocean. 

Once they crossed over to the Sinai Peninsula, it seemed senseless to leave the sea path, even if it was bound to attract unwanted attention being one of the main roads to Alexandria. The desert was unkind even in winter, and the sun would have no mercy on their skins, as healing as they were. Yusuf was more than used to the harsh rays of it, but he feared Nicolo would not fare as well, and shelter was imperative if they wished to make the journey with their horses alive. 

Half a day from Cairo, they stopped near lake Manzala, not too close to the bank where there was treacherous clay, but enough so they’d get the water needed for boiling and enjoy the breeze the lake provided. They arrived late the night before, and now, too early in the day for the coolness of the night to fade away entirely, weren’t in a hurry to make the last leg of their journey.

“Do you think this would ever end?” Yusuf wondered grimly, his hand with a piece of coal in it hovering indecisively over a blank page of his sketchbook.

Nicolo looked up from the small bowl of water he was using to wash his face, expression alarmed, and studied Yusuf for a moment.

“What would?” He had to ask in the end.

Yusuf smirked at himself - he and Nicolo were so good at understanding each other, sometimes he had to remind himself the man couldn’t actually read his mind.

“Will we ever die, I mean,” he explained, making his voice as matter-of-fact as possible not to deepen Nicolo’s worry, “It’s just something Iftikhar had said before we left - that the years were kind to me... I suppose he was right in a way - I don’t feel any older than the day of my first death.”

It took Nicolo a while to answer and he spent it wandering over deep in thought, the drops across his face glinting like precious stones. 

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens,” he said finally, sitting down by Yusuf’s side, his gaze faraway and his words soft and practiced, as if he was quoting something he’d memorised before, “A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal…”

Yusuf considered it for a while, letting the saying take true meaning in his heart. 

“So all things that should die, die in their own time?” He asked, musing over the possibilities of them dying sooner rather than later. 

It was silly, really - not too long ago he was ready to give anything in his power to end such an existence. Now, he felt like he would fight anything - any foe, any force, any god - for a few more days…

“And as we have no power over it, dwelling on it would only bring sorrow and distress,” Nicolo murmured, as if he was at last aware of the thoughts in Yusuf’s head, just as he wished only moments ago.

“We should not take time for granted, then,” he concluded at last, hesitating with the charcoal in his hand again. 

The dreams about the two women did not leave either of them - even if Nicolo didn’t say much on it, Yusuf still knew. By now, the two were as much a part of the companionship as himself or Nicolo were, and Yusuf had been toying with an idea of drawing them for quite some time. He didn’t say anything to Nicolo, because thus far it was entertaining idle possibilities, but this morning after being woken from yet another gruesome dream, something in Yusuf finally took hold.

“Whims of inspiration?” Nicolo pointed to the still blank page.

Yusuf gave one short nod before looking at the man. 

“I was thinking of drawing them,” he said slowly, not sure how to phrase it, “The women in our dreams, I mean.” 

Nicolo only smiled in encouragement, probably sensing Yusuf had more to say.

“My faith doesn’t allow the drawing of men and women,” he explained briefly. He knew of men in his religion who painted and drew long before Yusuf was even alive, but they were less devoted to faith than he was. “So I am not sure if I should...” 

“Why not?” Nicolo asked, no judgement in his tone, only interest, only concern.

“The Quran specifies that the musawwir - it means maker of arts and forms - is another name of something close to Allah,” Yusuf said, his fingers itching to draw. “Allah is our creator, and he alone should be able to create - it is not for mortals.”

Yusuf thought if he would try hard enough, he would remember the verse that referred to that; it was a wicked thing that he was given a gift as others have called it, but not the right to capture the beauty of the world around them through it. 

At least that was what his mother said when he was younger. She had also given him a sketchbook of sorts and made him vow not to tell his father…

Nicolo nodded, a gentle smile on his lips that didn’t make any sense to Yusuf.

“If god - any kind of god, I’ve come to believe - exists at all,” he hummed, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on his folded arms, like he usually did in preparation to watch Yusuf at his craft, “Then to be all-powerful and all-knowing he would have to see through our eyes, and speak through our mouths, and then why not create through our hands?” 

“Allah is all around us,” Yusuf said, gesturing to them and the land around them in a way that would make sense only in the small world they created for themselves. He knew it didn’t answer Nicolo’s question, but perhaps all he could offer was an explanation of how he was taught to see things. 

“God does not have a will or a need to be worshipped... I do not pray because Allah tells me to, or because I need to. I believe in my own way, on my own terms - but there is a difference between missing a prayer or two, eating meat that isn’t halal and making myself equal to a word of a God.”

“If God doesn’t tell us how he wishes to be worshiped,” Nicolo looked away, voicing the words that he seemed to have been thinking for a long time, “Why not worship him in our own ways? Wouldn’t he know our souls when we speak to him? Wouldn’t he see to the core of what we do? If you do not wish to challenge him by bringing a beauty into this world that is of your own making, why not do it humbly in his name? Or is he so fragile that he wouldn’t know the difference?” 

Yusuf considered his words. They sounded right - too right in the way they found place in his heart. He had thought, not too long ago, that Nicolo was a man of lesser words than him, but as time passed he found that Nicolo was simply a man who spoke deeply and in passion he had never seen before of things that mattered, and to people who matter to him.

Yusuf was able to admit, in the midst of his own comfortable mind and there alone, that he was the latter and happily so. 

In the end, he smiled. “Yes, I suppose in a way you are right. I have always worshipped Allah in my own way - by now I’m sure in that, at the very least.”

“There’s peace to be found in accepting the world in kindness,” Nicolo said, and there was something in the way he looked in Yusuf’s eyes, that made him feel as if there was more to it, some hidden meaning that eluded him. 

“And besides,” he suddenly grinned, a strange mix of dejection and certainty in the expression, “If god is what made us what we are, as he would all things, I suppose, he’s got a very direct way of letting us know.”

Yusuf chuckled. 

“I remember a time when you called this a curse, and got angry when I suggested it to be a blessing,” he said with an easy smile, holding the charcoal up again.

“Feels like a different life, doesn’t it?” Nicolo mused, laughing just under his breath.

Yusuf sighed along with him, and finally let his media touch the paper. It was a struggle of trying to focus on the vague, fleeting images from the dreams and hold on to them long enough to commit the faces to the paper. Yusuf didn’t think he was doing a very good job of it, having had no practice at all with the subject… He kept trying to rub a crease from his brow, that seemed to be digging into the very bone of his skull.

Nicolo never moved though, seemingly fully content with observing. 

After what felt like forever the lines finally began coming together, the shadows and lights taking their rightful places, the shapes flowing in and out of each other… He would have to practice more, try again, but that’s for later. For now this would have to do, Yusuf decided in the end, blowing away the fallout from the page and turning it for Nicolo to see. 

The way he looked at the image when he took the book from Yusuf’s hands, the way he glanced at Yusuf for a moment before returning his gaze to the page, made him suddenly understand why it was frowned upon in his faith to do what he’s done. The way Nicolo looked at him, the way Nicolo looked at the drawing, was as if he could see something bigger than what Yusuf was - something extraordinary. People weren’t meant to see each other that way, to be praised that way, and yet Nicolo has been akin to something celestial in Yusuf’s eyes for a long time now he thought, so he couldn’t bring himself to reject the man’s admiration no matter how he chastised himself for it. When he would be at the edge of oblivion, that’s when he would regret it, not before.

Nicolo traced just the edges of the two figures’ outlines in his sketch - caught mid fight, one swinging the axe and the other drawing an arrow, their faces and clothing rendered in as much detail as Yusuf could remember.

“It is real after all,” Nicolo whispered as he looked up again, his eyes overwhelmingly tender and warm, “No end to the miracles.”

Yusuf choked out a laugh. Out of all the things he thought Nicolo would say, it wasn’t that.

“Yes,” he agreed fondly, glad Nicolo shared his view on the matter. “Perhaps next time you dream you can tell me - that way it would be more accurate.”

“As much as I don’t look forward to it,” he made a face, “I’m glad that it at least won’t be in vain anymore…” 

_

Cairo had been a sight.

It wasn’t Yusuf’s first visit, and while he never forgot the first time he came here - fresh from his first death with no resources other than his blade - the look of awe on Nicolo’s face was like being there for the first time all over again. 

Situated over a river, Cairo had been both a blessing and a curse; while the breeze was nice even at the hottest time of day, the humidity had been like needles in their bones. 

Yusuf had not been back to the city since before he left for Nicaea via Alexandria, and it did not hold nice memories for him. He had hoped, perhaps, if they would be able to find some answers, that would change. 

He led them through the crowded streets, keeping a slow and steady pace to let Nicolo take in how different it was from the other places they’ve been to. Cairo was a prosperous city, declared as the capital of the Fatimid Caliphate, a force Yusuf was thoroughly familiar with. It was also a trading centre, attracting travellers and merchants from all across the world so he knew Nicolo - though a foreigner in most places of these lands - would feel comfortable enough here. He did not say, but Yusuf was able to see it in his features as he gazed upon whatever the city had to offer them.

The inn Yusuf had stayed in before was his first thought on where to stop, as he remembered the amenities that would offer them a bath as well, and he had grown quite tired of washing in murky rivers. 

He had explained the history of the city as he knew it to Nicolo as they put the horses in the stables next to the inn, giving his companion the time to care for Hilal - who had grown quite healthy, like Nicolo himself, both of their ribs no longer poking from their skins - and gave the stableboy some money.

They would need to find a way to make more. Cairo was expensive... 

As they crossed the street towards the market after settling in Yusuf was just about to suggest a means of making a coin when someone brushed shoulders with him, too close even for the busy alley they were passing through. He’s gotten too comfortable again, that much was obvious as the hand that steadied him a moment before became a painful grip on his arm, followed immediately by a knife thrust in his belly. Yusuf let out a sharp breath, a groan lost somewhere deep in his throat, and frantically searched out Nicolo with his eyes.

He was only a few steps ahead, just turning around, no one minding him… 

Instinctively, hands shaking, Yusuf found the handle of the knife and tried to pull it out, but the fingers that were holding him up shifted and stopped his efforts. Yusuf stared up, squinted to focus his blurring vision on the face that was too close.

The man was familiar, he realised, though Yusuf wasn’t able to put his finger on how exactly just now. He had a sharp face and was slightly taller than Yusuf and Nicolo both, dressed in plain clothes. 

The gaze he was giving Yusuf thought, was mad - a twisted, insane grin splitting his face as he muttered, “I knew it, I knew it,” his voice rising in volume.

It was only a breathless blink before Nicolo became aware of this, the expression on Yusuf’s face alone enough to make him rush back and grip the attacker by the back of his neck, shoving him off Yusuf and into a nearby wall, as the passers by gasped and jumped out of the way. 

Yusuf staggered, reaching out to Nicolo for support just as he caught Yusuf by the elbow, and finally pulled the cursed knife out. This was a poor choice of action, he understood a moment too late, when the blood flowed from an already healing wound, tinting his light shirt in heavy shades of red. 

Someone screamed, making everybody else panic and scramble for an escape.

Nicolo helped him lean against the opposite wall and unsheathed his sword before grabbing the man who stabbed Yusuf by the front of his shirt, and yanking him up from where he was half-crouched on the ground - laughing in a shallow, insane kind of way. Nicolo shook him a little. 

Yusuf thought the blade of Nicolo’s sword pressed to the throat would sober him up, the look in his companion’s eye as sharp as the steel in his palm, but the man only gaped.

“Demon,” he muttered, possessed by some force Yusuf knew belonged to the madness. “I knew it,” he laughed again. 

Then his eyes narrowed on Nicolo, as if only then realising his position. 

“Do not protect a creature like that! He does not deserve it,” the man spoke to him urgently, before jerking his head in Yusuf’s direction again, “You should have died when I slit your throat!”

Yusuf felt his flesh knit together, the wound close and his breaths turn slowly bearable, as he remembered his feet and walked over to the two of them. Nicolo’s eyes became alarmed then, wide as he shot Yusuf a desperate glance and seemed to become abruptly aware of their remaining audience.

“A creature?” Nicolo responded, his voice too uncertain for the lies to sound believable, “What is it you think he is? And what insanity possessed you to attack a man who’s done nothing to you?”

The stranger spat out something in a broken yell, making a rumble pass through the few people that remained, observing from a distance, causing even them to scatter at last, and while Yusuf was glad for the privacy, he didn’t like the cause for it.

He also knew Nicolo didn’t understand the meaning, so he sighed at his companion’s confused look.

“A Ghoul,” he translated into Greek. “It’s a monstrous looking demon, an undead.”

Nicolo’s responding expression was so full of distaste and exasperation that it almost made Yusuf chuckle though.

“I didn’t realise that demons in these parts had such a mild appearance,” he noted, looking Yusuf up and down as if for the first time, “If I did, I’d show you some of the engravings of such creatures from the monastery, to give you something to strive for.” 

“Mild appearance,” Yusuf repeated in disbelief, the words shooting out of him too fast to stop or even consider, and then he was suddenly very interested to see how they would affect Nicolo. “Surely there is something wrong with your vision, my friend, if you don’t find me at the very least pleasing to look at.”

Nicolo seemed lost for words, his grip on his sword becoming a little loose in his daze, before he managed to shake it off enough to respond.

“More pleasing than those engraving to be sure.”

“What a relief,” Yusuf said, the same fondness from earlier sneaking into his voice, despite even the man in Nicolo’s hold, yelling for Allah to place death upon them. 

“You should be cast in hell and tortured by the fire for your abomination!” He spat, gnarled with fruitless fury.

Yusuf had no time for translations, as Nicolo visibly struggled to grasp the words he did not know, since the man carried on, calling for punishment on both of them. A pointless demand, in Yusuf’s mind, as he was sure both him and Nicolo had prayed enough for this to happen when they first killed each other. 

Then as he looked at the man thinking back on his past, the realisation sank in, and a sense of unfulfilled anger coming over him in a tide so great, it was all Yusuf could do not to claw for the man’s neck that very second. Without warning, he was saturated with unease and helpless rage, and utter anxiety of trying to search out anything - a trace, a sign - that could point him right in time to help, in time to do one good thing in the wretched world he was faced with! 

“Now I remembered you,” he strained through gritted teeth instead, as low as he could, all the while wishing to see the man suffering the fate he wished upon them now. “Two years ago - you stole three children from their families in the dead of night. Called it a proper sacrifice for their pagan ways... You killed me, as I was trying to get the children back! It was lucky for you I was too preoccupied with getting them to safety to seek revenge. You should have taken the chance you were given as a blessing from Allah himself, for you will get no other.”

He did not wait for a response, a sense of detachment over him and an exhaustion from that fateful night deep in the Maghreb desert forced him to take his sword and thrust it with just the correct amount of force through the man’s chest. On a worse day he would’ve preferred to have a man such as this suffer more thoroughly, but the punishment didn’t feel as his choice to make, only Allah’s own will.

Nicolo startled and let go of the now lifeless body, letting it slide down the wall and taking a step back, while Yusuf wiped the blood off his scimitar on the man’s clothing and returned it to its sheathe. There was so much evil in this world that he was all at once reminded of, that the happiness that filled him for weeks now felt somehow imprudent…

“Did you manage to save them?” His companion asked quietly, turning him away from those grim thoughts, “The children.”

“All but one,” he replied as he led Nicolo away from the scene. 

Fragments of memories from that night played out in his mind’s eye so clearly as if he was still there, and thus he had no notion of where to go in the present. Nicolo noticed - of course he did; he took over without saying a word, making sure to put enough distance between them and the man Yusuf rid this world of, before stopping in another alley, his fingers on Yusuf’s arm.

The touch had sobered him up a bit, grounding him in the present again. 

“When I returned to the village with just two out of the three... I was greeted with agony, the likes of which I’ve never seen. An understandable feeling, considering, but for the first time I wished I was dead like the girl’s mother had so wished upon me.” He paused, looking at Nicolo for judgment, but as always there was none to be found. It gave him the power to speak out loud once more, to let out what he thought since, “I died trying to help them, but if I could have stayed dead to ensure that all of them returned safely, I would have chosen death a thousand times over.”

With those last words, Nicolo’s comforting hand disappeared, and in the midst of the day, under the heat of the scorching sun, Yusuf felt as if he would shiver and freeze to death.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whispered tenderly, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes - not until the man touched his neck, placing both palms to his skin again on either side of it and tilting his bowed head up a fraction.

Yusuf blinked, forcing his stinging eyes to meet the reality. The reality was brighter, more blinding than he was prepared for, Nicolo’s existence in it enough to balance out the misery, or at the very least to remind Yusuf of the goodness that was there to bring that particular pendulum to an indelible equilibrium. 

“If you’d have died that night, what would’ve happened to everyone you helped since? What of all the other good you’ve done?” Nicolo asked, “All we can do is the best we’re capable of. Can’t you see how blessed we are to be given more than one chance for it?” 

Yusuf was only able to hold on to the backs of Nicolo’s hands in an attempt to soak up more of their warmth and comfort. The man’s words were like a beacon out of his doubts and the despair of his past, standing tall and vibrant against the incoming darkness.

In his mind, as he allowed himself to think about it, Yusuf knew he would have found these same words. But now - with a friend who spoke them for him so clearly, so sure of Yusuf, that he didn’t even have to know of those lives he had saved… It felt soothing, it felt right, it felt like it was where he was supposed to be. And should whatever blessing upon him have ended the night he was caught up in now - he would not have had the opportunity to meet such a man.

“Once again, correct. A shepherd to the blind, aren’t you?” He smiled, hoping to relieve some of the tension.

This earned him a breathless, bewildered sort of laugh from Nicolo.

“A man’s got to earn his keep somehow,” he shook his head, “And besides, I wouldn’t call it blindness, just a little sand in one’s eye. None of us is impervious to that one, immortal or not...”

Yusuf considered this in earnest - how blurry his vision has been, how in the sea of faces that passed him by since, he somehow let himself forget of that hateful one… Now he was more than glad to let it meet oblivion, but if they were to live more than one lifetime of men in more ways than one, he suddenly wondered how much more would be lost to time, how many memories faded, how many faces forgotten.

“I cannot believe I did not recognise him,” Yusuf said, looking to the exit from the alley, “It’s as if since the day I died everything moves too fast to follow - makes me feel like I forget more than I learn...”

“You remembered when it mattered,” Nicolo replied, following him out into the street, where Yusuf tossed a coin to a wide-eyed boy selling fabrics, and draped the purchased cloth over his shoulders to hide the bloodstain as well as he could until their return to the inn, “That’s the important part, isn’t it?”

“But what if I didn’t?” He wondered out loud, “What if one day we’ll go so far, pass by so many people, the faces that matter would just be erased… Doesn’t it bother you?”

Nicolo looked at him from the corner of his eye, a side of his mouth tilting downwards.

“I don’t suppose it can be helped,” he muttered, “It’s the nature of time to rob us, isn’t it?”

Yusuf thought about it, and all the while he had an idea form in his head. Perhaps it was that he had gotten used to sharing his everything with Nicolo, or maybe just the inkling the man would relate to him, but he smiled and said: 

“Maybe, I should use my newfound freedom and draw more of whom we come across.”

This brought a smile to Nicolo’s face as well, if only momentarily overcoming the sadness.

“A fine way to cheat the time itself,” he praised, “A certain level of immortality for the mind… I only wish there would’ve been a way for you to capture things you haven’t seen. I’ve nearly forgotten what my sisters look like, and my father; I wish there was a way to hold on to those memories…”

“Perhaps we can go and visit your sisters and father,” Yusuf said after a beat, before he could think too much of it, “That way I would be able to draw them for you, and we can find some place safe for you to store the drawings...”

He realised Nicolo had fallen a step behind a moment too late, and glanced over his shoulder just to find his friend standing in the middle of the street, breathing fast - a mixture of horror and confoundment on his face.

Yusuf’s heart sank immediately. 

Usually, he would pride himself a man speaking with no fear of consequences, as he was nurtured on the fact that one should always speak his mind, no matter how difficult it may be. This time however, as he looked at Nicolo’s expression and his suddenly tense posture, his hands in fists at his sides, all he felt was dread. 

_ What made him think Nicolo would even want such a thing? _ He was a fool to suggest that - a bigger fool still to perhaps have hoped to share Nicolo’s home as much as he wanted him to share his... Learning each other’s language and culture was a necessity - a way of surviving a foreign land, definitely not Nicolo’s first choice for education, just as Yusuf would never have been his first choice to spend however long they had together. 

There was nothing tethering them together other than fate, and as powerful as it may be, why would Nicolo want to burden his family with Yusuf’s presence?

He cleared his throat and moved in front of Nicolo, his hands itching to reach out for comfort, to ease that horrifying tension, maybe disguise it as a joke…

“Nicolo, I did not mean...” he trailed off, knowing better than to lie and say he did not imply something he in fact cared about quite a lot, “I apologise, that was out of line.” 

“No, it’s not-” Nicolo’s voice was hollow, devastated in a way that echoed within him in sharp, painful ways, “I don’t- I- Yusuf, I wish you could - I wish there was a way for you to know my family as I do - to see through to the good in their hearts,” he shook his head and let out a sharp frustrated breath, “I wish that my people were as forgiving and hospitable, and kind as yours, but it simply isn’t so. My family would be as cruel to you, as prejudiced against your ways, as anyone else in the lands that I come from. It is a close mindedness that even their love for me wouldn’t overcome, and I don’t think I would forgive them for that. Not after what I’ve seen here, not after what I now know people to be capable of. I would condemn them and I know it’s hypocritical of me, but I would rather cherish them for what I thought they were, than to despise them for what they really are… And then to see them hurt you, to see them make you feel as any less than what you are - a man of goodness and conviction, and selflessness! I’m sorry, I-”

Nicolo’s words caused a miraculous event once again, and as he broke off, they both stood speechless in the middle of the street. Yusuf felt more like a fool than he did ever before, breathing out only a noiseless ‘oh’, as he succumbed to his want to hold Nicolo’s hand. He hoped the gesture would convey all of his feelings - for what they might be even Yusuf himself wasn’t sure anymore - and only belatedly realised that it probably stopped Nicolo from continuing. 

For a moment more, he only thought, trying feverishly to choose which part of Nicolo’s speech to address first, or perhaps decide whether Nicolo wanted him to at all. In the end, he squeezed the man’s hand in reassurance, nodding to himself more than anything. 

“There is nothing hypocritical about you, and you - who had seen the worst of prejudice that people of my land had to offer - surely need not apologise, over anything. We both would leave our families behind, and would start a new life, we would make our own memories, should you choose to.”

Nicolo’s responding exhale was so deep and so violently relieved, Yusuf worried he might’ve exhaled his very soul.

“Thank you,” Nicolo muttered, “Thank you- I would like that very much, yes-”

Yusuf saved him from whatever else he might have mumbled, and smiled softly. He gave his hand one last brush before turning him back the way they were headed.

“Come,” Yusuf said, a steering hand on Nicolo’s shoulder, “I feel as if we’re in a bigger need of a bath than going to the market.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some flirting in the face of danger of more communication progress XD We hope you enjoy! Let us know <3


	14. PARAMOUNT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** Dissociation in the last scene of the chapter

Nicolo

Cairo, July 1098

  
  


Nicolo wondered how was it that they could recover from death, and yet a shift of standing around doing essentially nothing made him so exhausted he could barely drag his feet across the sleepy Cairo streets. It’s been a few weeks since they first arrived in the city and the way had become so familiar and well-traveled that he could’ve probably made it with his eyes closed. 

Their temporary home was quite a ways away from the place of their employment, but at least they managed to secure both, which was lucky… 

He could sense Yusuf’s amused smirk without even looking at the man, just as Nicolo could sense the exact moment he decided to speak his mind in hushed Italian. 

“You know you don’t have to treat this so seriously,” Yusuf teased him, “There isn’t an actual demon out and about.”

Yes, that was another thing - a dubious reason for their suspiciously good luck. Ever since the fateful encounter with the man who accused and attacked Yusuf, a rumor began to spread through the city of an evil creature prowling about. With the general air of unease caused by this, it was easy enough to sell their swords to a superstitious, yet wealthy man, adamant on ensuring his and his family’s safety in any way he could. Little did he know…

“Perhaps it’s thanks to my dedication that you still weren’t discovered for the fiend that you are,” he reasoned, feeling a tired smile claim his face all on its own, “I must admit though, this does make me sympathise with Iftikhar’s guards… Perhaps we should find a way to make amends in some way if we’re even in Jerusalem again.” 

“We gave them the rest they deserved,” Yusuf waved the notion off, “Perhaps even caused them to be more alert in the future... So really, we already made amends.”

Nicolo only shook his head and chuckled, they were now on the street where their home was and all he could think about were the few well-deserved hours of rest, before they headed to the library again.

As far as houses went, Nicolo would never have asked for anything more than this; on the outside, it looked like any other home on the street, very plain made out of beige stone that reminded him very much of Ameera and Ibrahim’s house in Damascus. He had found that most buildings around these parts were like that - very plain and as much a part of the city landscape as any natural formation would be - but on the inside, that’s where their personalities shone. 

It was very small, but traces of them were evident all throughout it more than Nicolo would’ve expected in such a short time - from Yusuf’s sketchbook and a scatter of stray practice drawings across the living space to the notebook that once belonged to Ameera, but was now Nicolo’s on one of the kitchen tables, to their clothes folded in their respective rooms, separated only by cloths from the living space. The long clay vase Yusuf found was used for storing their weapons whenever they came home and then there was the blanket Nicolo bought on his first real pay - not really able to resist after Yusuf told him it reminded him of home.

It was funny how those few belongings - as simple as they may have been - made the place feel more as a home than anywhere Nicolo had stayed before...

“I’ve been thinking,” Yusuf said as he moved around the kitchen to get them both something to eat as Nicolo sat down on the low cushioned bench that was a part of the house. “Maybe there would be an answer in those hieroglyphs? Those things are clearly older than anything else we’ve checked so far... We would need to find someone to translate them, though. Perhaps someone who works there?”

Nicolo did not mean to tune him out, of course, but Yusuf did that a lot recently. He was always very open with his thoughts and his words, oftentimes making Nicolo slightly jealous of how easily it came to him. And how he was moving around the kitchen in a way that seemed so natural, so comfortable - all Nicolo could do was watch. 

Yusuf either didn’t notice or didn’t say anything, because a moment later he collapsed next to Nicolo, gesturing at some bread and cheese in front of them.

It took Nicolo a few heavy, drowsy blinks to stop just staring blankly at Yusuf’s face. He truly was pleasing to look at - the soft lines of his features framed in dark hair, the eyes that were just as outspoken as the man to whom they belonged, the expressions that transformed him completely from one moment to the next... 

“Stop staring at the Ghoul,” Yusuf said grimacing and moving to shove a plate of food into Nicolo’s hands. “He’s very tired and wants an answer to his question.”

Nicolo chuckled, groaned a bit and rubbed his nose bridge trying to remember what the question was…

The hieroglyphs, yes, he has been fascinated with them from their very first visit to the library, but since he’s gotten better with his written Arabic, they had to leave the colorful weathered scrolls alone, and focus on making actual progress. So far however there was none to be made. All they discovered were the texts of ancient arabic magics, too obscure to have been related to either of their becoming immortal. 

Nicolo chewed as he thought.

“If we can manage to find someone who understands those writings,” he mused finally, “We would have to explain our subject of interest somehow. With how riled up people are, we should hardly draw attention to ourselves…”

Yusuf nodded, visibly considering that as he threw some cheese in his mouth. He was silent for one more moment, before saying, “Maybe we can use your appearance... we might be able to raise less suspicion if we would explain that you are a scholar from someplace else, maybe wanting to take some of the stories across the lands?” 

He paused again to think, before finishing his bite and leaning back. 

Nicolo felt the man’s stare in shivers down his spine. It was rather discouraging, as usually it meant Yusuf had an idea brewing. 

“Or maybe we steal these scrolls and find someone who isn’t of this city and did not hear the rumours to translate?”

Nicolo placed his own plate down and joined Yusuf, giving him a hard sidelong glance, too comfortable now that something other than his aching neck was supporting his head, to move anymore. 

“Yes, I’m sure Ameera would approve of that very much,” he noted pointedly.

Yusuf hummed, just as tired. He shrugged, and Nicolo felt that exhaustion to his very core.

“I suppose you’re right,” Yusuf said. 

He sounded disappointed, but Nicolo had a feeling it had little to do with the actual criminal activity that he was robbed off, and more with how well they worked together outside of studying ancient stories and guarding a too rich man from legendary creatures. 

“Although,” Yusuf continued, a yawn cutting his words, “With how little Ameera thinks of Cairo, I wouldn’t be surprised if she supported that.”

Nicolo huffed at the idea and blinked, fully intending to continue the discussion, but his eyes simply refused to open again.

“We’ll ask her the next time we stop by,” he muttered, unsure if Yusuf could even understand the vague idea of the words he managed. 

He felt something move - the air stirring close to his face, but decided that whatever it was, it might very well kill him or leave him be, he had no energy to check on it either way.

_

  
  


An opportunity for a translator came only a few days later, and Nicolo was worried with how good of a luck they were having in the city again. 

He and Yusuf had been at Cairo library - the way they spent each day they didn’t waste working, when Nicolo heard the mumblings that had to be two people arguing from a couple rows away. 

Yusuf had looked up when Nicolo stood to check, his chin lifting for a second in question.

“I will be back in a moment,” Nicolo answered, providing no more than that before he set off to see what was happening.

He discovered the two - an old man in a robe with his back turned to him and a much younger man, a boy even, thin and shorter, with big eyes and dark hair. 

They spoke in hushed voices, probably due to the quiet hanging over the library, and before too long the older man had stalked off in Nicolo’s direction, too angry to pay him any mind.

The boy huffed and turned to the books, one hand on them and the other one clutched in a fist by his side.

“I apologise for intruding, but are you alright?”

The boy jumped at Nicolo’s words, too caught up in his own mind to notice someone standing less than four steps away from him.

“Y-yes,” the boy muttered, “Just wishing I could be anywhere but here right now.”

This took him back, to the small dusty dim room in the monastery, hunching over a page of writing in a small circle of light from a putrid-smelling candle and the old half-blind monk clicking his tongue in distaste at Nicolo’s handiwork. It took him long enough to find the patience and steadiness of hand to finally earn the old man’s approval...

“Takes some restraint to get along with the elderly, doesn’t it?” He nodded, “They may have collected much wisdom, but it seems that patience grows thin with age…”

“Yes!” The boy said in relief mixed with shock. He then cleared his throat, chuckling in embarrassment over his outbreak. “I-I mean, it can be tiring, but isn’t it worth it to uncover miraculous things?”

Nicolo felt the surprise as it shifted his features. 

“Well, my friend and I have been at this library for weeks now, searching to uncover miraculous things for ourselves, but so far we made very little in the way of progress,” he admitted, glancing over the boy’s boney shoulder to find scrolls upon unravelled scrolls in the language of old. 

“Oh, and I thought I was the only one who was thrilled by old tales and histories!” He laughed again, this time with the same relief from before. “What are you working on? I think it might take some time for the old man to calm down...” he trailed off then, looking behind Nicolo. 

The suggestion was there, but the boy either did not know how to propose his help or was not sure if it would be appreciated. He looked eager to escape his own studies though.

“You know the language then?” Nicolo pointed at the desk behind him, unsure whether they should be so fortunate.

“Yes!” The boy said, in his excitement knocking over a few of the books on the row he was leaning against. 

He chuckled again, settling the books in their rightful place and looked back to Nicolo. “I grew up here,” he gestured around the place, “For an orphan like me, it was either this or war, so I made the safe choice.” 

He nodded then, to some unknown question or maybe just unfamiliar with how social graces worked outside of the elderly scholars. 

“My name is Ayaan,” he held out his hand to Nicolo.

“I am Nicolo di Genoa,” he responded as he grasped and shook the boy’s - Ayaan’s - hand, “Say, how would you feel about making a coin helping a fellow student find something on a very obscure subject?”

“I have no need of coin,” Ayaan sheepishly admitted. “Helping people is what I want to do, so...” 

He did not elaborate, but Nicolo had a feeling he was also trying to get out of going back to the scholar who was chastising him. Still, it warmed his heart - the kindness that persevered in people, the grace that was worth fighting for… He thought it might actually do some good for them to be reminded of that.

“Come then,” Nicolo finally decided, “I’ll introduce you to my friend and then we’ll discuss miracles.”

With the boy in tow, Nicolo returned to the table he and Yusuf occupied in the past few weeks. It was rather secluded, in between shelves of books and with their backs to the stone wall. 

Yusuf raised his head as soon as they arrived, his eyebrows shooting up in confusion. 

“Have we adopted a child without my consent?” Yusuf asked, using parts Italian and Arabic. It was a habit they found baffled people, should anyone want to eavesdrop, as most people did not speak both languages.

“Yusuf, this is Ayaan,” Nicolo said firmly, “He can read those hieroglyphs we’ve been talking about. Ayaan, this is Yusuf. He’s going to be very grateful for your help.” This last part he added still more pressingly, making sure the man was looking him in the eye. 

Yusuf stood up, his hand reaching over to shake Ayaan’s, who immediately settled and smiled at the man, albeit in slight reservation. 

Yusuf nodded at Nicolo’s words. “Of course, I am very grateful for your help.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ayaan muttered back at last, looking at Nicolo in some mild confusion, “Can I ask what made you study together? We don’t get a lot of people like you here... Or young people, I suppose, but also not, well, like you.”

Nicolo took in a breath through the nose, scrambling for an answer that would be too complex to give to an essential stranger and that even if he kept out the immortality of it all. Even Yusuf seemed caught off guard for a second, his jaw working as he opened his mouth to answer several times, but promptly closed it again without managing a sound. 

“It’s a very particular circumstance,” Nicolo spat finally, “We share certain qualities, you see, that make it beneficial for us to stay together.”

The moment he said it, Nicolo knew the words had been wrong - perhaps not false, but incomplete, lacking the complexity of their mutual admiration, attachment and fondness. The feeling proven again by the flash of disappointment that passed over Yusuf’s features, before he could compose himself. 

“And there I thought your Arabic was getting too good, yet you can’t seem to remember the word for ‘friend’ in it,” Yusuf said, a smile in the corner of his lips.

Ayaan laughed nervously, as though he watched them fight rather than tease each other. 

“Shouldn’t have asked,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Please let me know how I can help you.”

Nicolo very slowly breathed out, hoping neither of the others would notice, glad that this time at least, he didn’t seem to hurt Yusuf’s feelings through his own carelessness. The truth had been that he was too caught up in the technical aspects of it all for too long, forgetting that reality for most people was a much simpler place.

For a second he tried to imagine how he and Yusuf would’ve fared were they not immortal - were they to meet outside of a battlefield, in a more peaceful time perhaps - were they not pushed together with the forces of destiny… Maybe he would’ve strayed and wandered into these strange lands, and Yusuf being his amiable and hospitable self made friends with him… He thought that even then Yusuf would’ve made himself paramount to Nicolo’s existence, like a point of gravity - it was not  _ what _ Yusuf was, but  _ who  _ that drew him. Nicolo thought he might have to find a way to make it apparent somehow, but not yet...

They had a chance to find out something new now, that would have to come first.

“We are looking for something that may be found in scripts, but we are unsure which, as we cannot read the language,” Yusuf said, carefully measuring Nicolo’s reaction. 

He watched him while speaking to the boy, and it seemed like Ayaan did not pick up on it. In fact, he seemed too focused on Yusuf’s words and nodded quickly. He took one look at the scrolls on the table and frowned. 

“Are you looking for... Ancient gods that do not exist anymore?” He was hesitant to ask, and whispered the last few words, like he was conspiring with them.

Nicolo looked at Yusuf the exact moment Yusuf had glanced at him, and Nicolo could’ve sworn they shared the same look of hope and alarm. The pagan gods of old, before their own respective faiths had claimed and divided the peoples, were many and capricious, not to mention forbidden to speak of, false as they were. False idols, worshipped in place of the true God - not gods at all, but perhaps they were something… 

“Not the gods themselves,” Nicolo risked, “But a quality of them that might’ve been mentioned.”

“There are plenty of qualities,” Ayaan said, taking a chair in front of Yusuf. 

Nicolo sat next to him, which left Yusuf to watch over their backs as Ayaan huddled over the scrolls they did manage to get.

“There’s the power to create, to kill, to poison humans by wars and also to protect them... to, uh,” he stopped there. “Resurrection.”

Yusuf looked very calm when Ayaan stared first at him and then at Nicolo, a calm that would’ve fooled anyone else, he thought. Yusuf didn’t like this, Nicolo knew, maybe even thought they were being negligent and reckless… Nicolo would’ve agreed, except the boy reminded him of himself at that age too much to mistrust him - it was an age of innocence and hopefulness, that people too easily dismissed as naivety…

“Yes,” he nodded slowly and solemnly.

“Are you looking for the creature that everyone’s talking about then? Are you hunting it?” Ayaan mouthed, so low even the two of them struggled to hear, “Do you think it’s a god?”

Yusuf waved a dismissive hand to create an illusion that he wasn’t as tempted to answer as he was. 

“We really cannot say,” he replied at last, and Ayaan’s expression turned disappointed.

It made Yusuf chuckle silently. The boy did not notice, as most things that passed between them eluded him, but Nicolo did, and he sent Yusuf a look that wouldn’t be anything other than warning. If Ayaan would be insulted, he would not help them.

“Let’s assume that this... creature is what we’re after,” Yusuf spoke again, his words like a puzzle of their own - Nicolo couldn’t help but hear the subtext, even if he wasn’t in on it. “Do you think some divine power might give it the ability to save itself from death?”

“You mean like how goddess Isis made the son of Queen Astarte immortal by bathing him in fire?” The boy asked, eyes bright, “Or how Osiris was resurrected when all of his body parts were put together again?”

It was all Nicolo could do not to gape. For weeks they were coming to this place, pouring over the old tomes, and yet this child had given them more of what they hoped to find in a matter of moments.

Yusuf took over, keeping his gaze halfway between Ayaan and the hall of the library behind him. 

“Yes, something like that. Are there any... valid sources over these myths?”

Ayaan’s eyes grew even bigger, and he leaned over the table again. 

“These aren’t myths, people here... Before the caliphate took over...” he stopped again, following Yusuf’s stare and looking over his shoulder.

“No one will hurt you,” Yusuf smiled and Ayaan nodded, not questioning his promise one bit. 

“Before, this was the way of the land, history was etched here as a part of the city - in Giza, in this library, in these...” he gestured at the scrolls. “If such a creature is alive, if by some miracle the old gods are back, then it means that it was melded in fire and was made to be in these lands.”

Nicolo sighed - made to be what they are in these lands - that was true for both himself and Yusuf; as for the two women they dreamt of - he wasn’t so sure. If they were made immortal in these parts, they weren’t around anymore…

“Is there a recording of that tale here, in this library?” Nicolo asked.

It took Ayaan no time at all to find the scrolls he’s been looking for, and then unroll them across their desk, running his finger along the symbols as he translated for them. 

It was a story of strange gods, whimsical and passionate, and mostly unkind. The tale revolved around one named Osiris, who was tricked by his enemy and trapped in a sarcophagus. He died, but his wife - Isis - had the knowledge to resurrect him. Before she could do so however, Osiris’s foe - Set - dismembered his body and scattered the parts across the lands. Isis had to collect all the pieces and then was able to revive him. 

It was a fascinating tale that perhaps had some roots in the world at some point - the deities themselves certainly seemed very human in their most basic natures and sentiments - not at all as the Gods worshipped by Nicolo and Yusuf themselves. Nicolo could see their fraud as objects of worship at least, so maybe his intuition was to be trusted to the extent of at least a possibility that these creatures lived here once, as they did now… Still, it was all too fantastic.

“Should I copy it into writing?” Ayaan asked, his enthusiasm never fading, “So you will have it once you face this beast? I-I mean, not that you would, because you- you cannot say, but-“

“That would be lovely,” Yusuf agreed. He took out a parchment he was using to take notes and passed it to the boy, “You have been extremely helpful, Ayaan, we appreciate your knowledge and assistance.”

Ayaan looked away for a moment, overwhelmed by the compliment and then did as he suggested, pausing only to look at the scroll.

Yusuf exchanged a glance with Nicolo for a second, before he formed his next question. 

“Did anyone mention Osiris raising back from the dead after that, by himself this time?”

Ayaan had to think for a few long seconds, blissfully unaware of Nicolo and Yusuf hanging off his every word. 

“I don’t think so. Healing powers aren’t mentioned much, even if some gods were able to, that gift wasn’t used to cheat death.”

Nicolo rested his elbows on the desk and dropped his face in his palms, rubbing his eyes. Today felt like progress, a lot of it compared to the past few weeks, and yet they were nowhere nearer to getting actual answers, explanations…

“Are there more myths?” Nicolo wondered, words muffled in his hands, “About healing and living after death?”

“Of course,” he heard Ayaan answer lightly, probably without even looking up from his work, “I can find the scrolls for you if you want to come back again in the next couple of days.”

Well, at least they made someone happy.

“We would be grateful for that, yes,” Nicolo replied.

An hour later, Yusuf had the parchment tucked in his bag as both of them left the library. The sun was just beginning to set, a clear indication of how easily they lost track of time in that building.

They walked quietly for the majority of the way home in confusion of silence that did not necessarily feel heavy, but also wasn’t as comfortable as usual. Just a couple of minutes from home Yusuf broke them out of the reverie, speaking low enough in Italian. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, concern evident in his tone if the words weren’t enough.

“Do you think there used to be more?” Nicolo shot back in a manner of answer, “Others like us?”

“I don’t know,” Yusuf said. It was soft, like whenever he wanted to let Nicolo know he was there and he would be free to speak his mind. “If there were, wouldn’t they still be alive? Wouldn’t we dream of them too?”

“There is a time for everything,” Nicolo answered, quoting the same passage he told Yusuf about the day they entered the city. This time though, he knew his voice sounded sad.

All the notions, all the wild ideas and dreamlike tales swam in his head, like fishes in a too small pool, colliding and making ripples… He felt lost, inconsequential, untethered again, wishing for something- no, wishing for Yusuf to bring the present back into focus for him, as he so often did. Except, Nicolo didn’t know how to ask for it.

“This feels like a last chance,” Yusuf said. They had rounded the corner and their house was in their sights now. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have come here. I gave you false hope for answers we might not get.”

Nicolo couldn’t answer. He just couldn’t master the words, swarming him now, crashing against him.

He followed Yusuf blindly down the alley and through the door, aware of the man via some other sense that had nothing to do with his sight or his hearing. And then as the door shut behind him he just stopped. 

Nicolo wasn’t sure how he wound up on the floor, sitting with his back to the door like a pile of unattached limbs, watching their small home from this off angle - a ghost of a stranger. It felt like he didn’t have a body anymore - he was just floating in uncertainty, in indecision…

He watched Yusuf walk ahead and then turn, his face changing into something akin to panic as his eyes met Nicolo’s. Nicolo wanted to soothe him, reassure him somehow, ask him what was wrong, but he couldn’t find himself to move. 

“Nicolo?” The word - the question, reached him there, at the bottom of the sea, where Yusuf had followed him, kneeling on the floor and holding on to Nicolo’s arms to keep from floating away.

“Nicolo?”

“I’m here,” he answered, the only words that came to mind, what with seeing Yusuf so lost, “I’m here.”

Yusuf let out a breath of relief so great it rocked his body, his fingers tight as shackles… Nicolo wasn’t going anywhere regardless, so Yusuf shouldn’t have been so extreme, really.

“Are you ill?” The man demanded next.

Nicolo thought about it and in the end decided to shake his head.

Yusuf watched him, some silent demand that Nicolo couldn’t comprehend in his eyes, his mouth tilted downwards in dissatisfaction, and then he looked away and scooped Nicolo into his arms, pressing his chin to the top of Nicolo’s head. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, elbows and knees everywhere, but he didn’t mind really. Like that - surrounded by Yusuf all around - he felt steady again, at last.

“It doesn’t matter if we never know,” Yusuf said, promised - it sounded like, “Maybe there are no answers or maybe we won’t find them no matter where we go, it doesn’t matter. We will do this together, and that is the only consolation I can think of. We have each other. You have me…”

That was it. The focus…

All Nicolo could think of suddenly in painfully sharp clarity were those words.

_ You have me. _

It felt like going back on everything Nicolo had known, like waking up, like never having had a doubt in his life…

“Thank you, my friend,” He whispered into Yusuf’s chest, his body relaxing at last, shaping itself to the embrace.

He felt it rumble, the laughter rising up, abrupt and unchecked as it burst from Yusuf.

“Now he remembers his Arabic,” was his only response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, some 11th century domesticity, some more adorable OCs (if you don't love Ayaan as much as we do what are you even doing XD) some hurt/comfort - things moving along ;) Let us know what you think and see you soon <3  
> ~A&K


	15. WILDFIRE

Yusuf

Cairo, July 1098

A shuffling sound stirred Yusuf awake the next day. His neck bothered him - a pain that healed by itself once he moved, most likely because he spent the night sleeping on the floor next to the bench in the main room. He rubbed his eyes, looking for Nicolo on it and felt his heart sink for a brief second before he found the man in the kitchen making breakfast.

It made Yusuf chuckle at his own fretfulness. He watched Nicolo as silently as he was able, relieved to see how little affect the last night seemed to have on him. In the safety of his own mind, Yusuf allowed himself to admire the man for it. If anyone would’ve seen him now, they’d never suspect Nicolo had fallen apart in Yusuf’s hands mere hours ago; it made Yusuf feel as if he was a part of a secret - as if he was the only person Nicolo shared all of himself with...

Eventually he had to get up though - there was yet another day waiting for them, and Nicolo had said the day before, that they would need to go to the market. Yusuf thought it had more to do with the fact that Nicolo was getting better at haggling, but said nothing on it other than giving his agreement. 

At this point, he thought, there was nothing he would deprive his friend of...

“Good morning,” Yusuf said in Italian.

Nicolo tensed just for one moment, and then it was gone and he answered in Arabic - a practice from when they were just stumbling through each other’s languages.

“There will be tea in a moment,” Nicolo said, gesturing over to a pot with mint leaves in it. 

Yusuf nodded, even if Nicolo did not see it. 

“Good, we should eat before going to the market.”

Nicolo did turn around at that, a hopeful expression on his face. This was amusing; had he thought Yusuf had forgotten?

“You still want to go?” 

“Of course,” Yusuf smiled softly, “After all we need to show off your haggling skills.”

The compliment, as usual, made Nicolo huff and shake his head, before they turned to their own morning routines.

An hour later, they were just entering the market. Nicolo led them this time, directly to the grains and spices stalls, the two old ladies there waiting for him to speak. Yusuf might have told them once before to go easy on Nicolo as he learned, but it seemed like he never needed it to begin with.

He watched Nicolo closely this time, hoping to not look as worried as he felt. He knew the man could take care of himself - had witnessed it one too many times, but there was some desperate sense of protectiveness that came hand in hand with Yusuf’s own anxiety on when their peace would end. He wasn’t a pessimist, by any means, but their quiet life in Cairo always seemed too easy, too lasting, to the point where some days he found himself all but praying it away, even despite knowing it was insane of him.

“It’s not fair, you know,” Nicolo whispered to him, as they moved on along the row of merchants to the next stall, “If you keep looking so menacing we’ll make the entire market go into debt.”

Yusuf allowed himself to laugh, and it was like a breath of fresh air, enough to make him relax his stiff posture and smooth out the crease in his brow. 

“And there I thought my mild appearance was just enough for you to haggle properly.”

Nicolo laughed along with him, although his eyes still held some fleeting degree of reservation.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” he assured Yusuf, “Even in your grimmer temper you are still pleasing to look at. The vendors are just too intimidated to see it as well as I do.”

Yusuf smiled, but decided it was best to stay silent for the moment. He moved them both to another stall - they needed some more cheese, after all. 

The merchant was a somewhat likable man they both knew by now, but Nicolo’s appearance always distracted him from paying any real attention to Yusuf, which was where Yusuf got the idea to teach Nicolo to haggle in the first place. The man was busy with another couple, not paying them much attention just yet, so they waited.

It might’ve been his mood, or perhaps one too many close calls, that made Yusuf aware of the man as he observed them across the lane, half-hidden among market canopies and further concealed with general commotion around. 

He was leaning against a wall, wearing a strange mixture of armor and clothing that didn’t seem to belong to a single place, and a shortsword on his hip the likes of which Yusuf had only seen with invaders from the west. He had a light covering on his head, but it could hardly conceal the light, albeit untidy hair, just as the cloth covering the lower portion of his face couldn’t disguise his skin or eyes - both farer than in most people here, even if not as fair as Nicolo’s.

As Yusuf narrowed his eyes, his own restlessness taking over, the man nodded to him. 

It took everything he had to keep his posture casual. He had been watched before, but not quite like this. The man’s gaze was too sure, too on them, and Yusuf found himself moving slightly on instinct.

It was only when he turned to speak to Nicolo that he realised the way he had moved was to try and shield his companion from the man’s stare.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf said as quietly as he could, while still needing to be heard over the crowd. “I think we might have company.”

Either it was his tone or Nicolo had been just as on edge as he was, only better at hiding it, but the moment the words left Yusuf’s mouth the man followed his line of sight, his hand finding the handle of his sword.

The stranger seemed amused by this, his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes crinkling at the corners. Slowly, he lifted both of his hands, wrapped in thick brown gloves, and just as slowly pushed down the fabric covering his face.

He was older than Yusuf expected - with deep smile lines around the mouth and patchy tan that spoke of travelling unwelcoming places - but not particularly threatening. In fact his expression would've been almost friendly, if not for the dread twisting Yusuf’s stomach.

He looked over his shoulder to see if maybe Nicolo recognized the man, but his eyes were just as guarded and alarmed as Yusuf knew his own to be. 

The man tilted his head a fraction - a motion that to anyone else would’ve looked unintentional. 

“He wants us to follow him,” Nicolo muttered close enough to his ear to hear despite the bustle around, not quite a question, but not a statement either. 

“It would be awfully inhospitable if we wouldn’t,” Yusuf muttered, but still looked at Nicolo for approval.

He didn’t think they had much in a way of a choice, truly. Should they not go, the stranger would take this as a sign that perhaps they had something to hide. The logical course of action would be to go and act as innocent as possible, and quickly assess the situation.

Nicolo must have had the same idea, as he moved past Yusuf and into the alley the man was turning into. 

Yusuf was able to do little but follow, aware of every wrong way this could go.

“If something happens, we meet at the stables,” Yusuf said in a hushed mix of Italian and Arabic.

Nicolo nodded even as he kept his eyes trained on the retreating figure. The labyrinth of alleyways took them away from the market fast until there was barely anyone around, the man disappearing behind yet another corner. Yusuf cursed and rested a hand on Nicolo’s shoulder fully intending to hold him back should the need arise.

As they wound up in a deserted courtyard though, the stranger was nowhere to be found.

“Did we lose him?” Nicolo wondered in Italian, too out of breath to bother with anything else.

“I doubt it,” Yusuf replied in the same language. 

He was looking around, examining their surroundings, Nicolo by his side doing the same. Just one exit, which was behind them, and doors to three houses on each of their sides.

“It’s nice to see that I haven’t wasted my time coming here,” the voice sounded behind them, a strange unbalanced version of Italian that was so different from Nicolo’s, Yusuf didn’t think it was the man’s first language, “The rumors can be so fickle… People are a superstitious lot, but even they wind up right every once in a while.”

Yusuf whirled around, gritting his teeth and throwing a hand over his shoulder, for his scimitar. The man didn’t react, leaning casually against the arch of the entranceway, watching them with interest.  _ What was this child play? _

Behind him, Nicolo demanded: “Who are you?”

The man nodded, just as calmly and began slowly removing one of his gloves that revealed skin warped and twisted with scars, so fragile-looking it was a wonder he had use of his hands at all.

“I am a,” he paused, considering, “Well-wisher, if you will.”

Yusuf smirked, hoping the contempt he felt would translate into his words.

“Yes, and with well-wishers such as yourself, we would hardly need enemies, would we?”

The man smirked amicably, as if they were missing an obvious joke, his eyes still on his hands.

“You needn’t worry then, I am not a well-wisher of your sort. My concern is the human kind…”

“How admirable,” Yusuf said, his eyes taking on the same focus as the stranger’s. He had not seen such markings on men, and he was not thrilled with the possibility of learning how they came to be, “Shall we then infer that you do not think of us as humans? Last I checked, we breathed the same air.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo called out to him in warning, and when he glanced to check on his companion, he could see that his face was filled with such dread, with such disgust, the likes of which he hadn’t seen before, not even prior to Antioch. 

This seemed to entertain the well-wisher even more. He finally tucked his gloves into his belt and straightened up.

“See, your heretic companion has the sense to be afraid,” He noted, “We may breathe the same air, but the likes of you have no business walking God’s earth and so in His name I go where rumors and whispers go, where demons and witches go.” 

“Must be a horrible way to pass the time,” Yusuf replied. There was a sense of detachment in how he said the words, but he wasn’t fully able to succumb to it. Yusuf was sure the rumours of heathen creatures had reached far enough, as the man had clearly crossed some seas to get to Cairo. “Shame you had to go to such lengths for naught.”

“And what do you say in your defence?” This he addressed to Nicolo.

His expression still hasn’t changed and his chest was heaving, but he took his hand off his sword.

“I know of men such as you,” he retorted sharply, “I’ve seen what you are capable of and I know that His Holiness Pope Urban doesn’t condemn you, but I also know that you are as accountable under the holy word of law as any of us. You will not trespass against us without trial, unless you want to meet all those heretics, witches and demons you hunted down in the pits of hell, and I don’t see the army that would help you capture us.”

This seemed to surprise the well-wisher at last, his expression finally losing the cursed amusement in place of some unnerving calculations.

“You sound awfully well-informed for a pagan,” he remarked. 

“He is no pagan,” Yusuf interrupted, having no patience for ignorance anymore, “Should you use your eyes, you would see an honourable man with the utmost best intentions, who does no evil and seeks no evil. You have wasted your time coming here.”

“Very well, my honorable men,” the stranger laughed, shaking his head, his eyes still pale and cold through it all, “I did not come here to measure our strengths against each other, only to seek proof to my assumptions. I shall leave you to your own devices for now, but know that judgement is coming for all of us - some sooner than the others.”

“You’d be surprised,” Nicolo muttered after him, his voice low and sad again, drained, but by the way the man faltered in his step for a beat, Yusuf thought he might’ve caught that.

They stood still for another excruciating minute, listening to the sound of his footsteps until they faded in the distance, and then Nicolo, shaky as he was, jumped into motion, his hand on Yusuf’s forearm adding urgency to his words.

“We have to leave. Now.”

“You mean leave Cairo, don’t you?” Yusuf nodded, the same notion taking a hold of his mind. 

It should have been alarming really how in touch they were, how he was able to see his own thoughts reflected on Nicolo’s face... Entertaining such notions would have to wait though, until they had the time and peace of mind to consider how deep their bond went.

Until they were safe again, if that would ever be the case…

“I’m sorry, Yusuf,” his companion mouthed, looking guilty of all things, guilty and hopeless.

Yusuf turned fully to look at Nicolo. His eyebrow raised, and gesturing with his hand to their only exit point. “In the name of Allah, what was that about?”

Nicolo let his eyes shut only for a moment as he exhaled.

“About ways to justify one’s cruelty, I think,” he replied slowly, “I heard of men like that, knew of men like that back in Genoa and all throughout the Holy Roman Empire, and the Kingdoms of France and England, and the rest of the lands. There was always someone who took their devotion too far, who took the tales of evil consuming the virtuous too literally, who searched for an outlet of their frustration with the world. Cruel, fearful bigots, dangerous fools, but useful to the church. Because if people couldn’t be taught to revere God, they could certainly be taught to fear Him, and the church along with Him…”

Yusuf took a deep breath. Once again, he has been proven how different his and Nicolo’s homelands were. How unjust it was for a person as pure as Nicolo to have been born in such a ruthless country, to a religion he was trying to understand to his core but wasn’t able to... A sense of rage filled him momentarily.  _ Was this what people thought of them?  _

“This is insanity,” Yusuf said instead. “People are meant to appreciate the world, learn from it... not follow down a path of darkness in search of myths and tales to strike fear into the hearts of men.”

“People live here very differently,” Nicolo offered in a manner of apology, “Sometimes it feels as if I come from a different world entirely - as if what is the day here, is night where I come from; as if what’s true here, is the lie to the ears of my people. Perhaps they’ve surrounded themselves with too much, built up too many walls, gave themselves too many conditions and restraints… There is a war within their minds that started long before this war that brought us together, the war against each other, and the war against themselves.”

Yusuf was only able to look at the ground as he stepped closer for a moment before replying. His arms crossed over his chest, he bumped his forearm against Nicolo’s side.

“I suppose we  _ are _ from two different worlds... Whichever power brought us together must have seen the need to meld people as one, and it chose to start with us.”

Nicolo didn’t say anything for a long time, so Yusuf had to look up in the end. He was surprised to find Nicolo’s face turned his way, the man gazing at him with that same indecipherable expression that claimed his features more and more often lately. As if looking at Yusuf was painful to him somehow, and yet like he couldn’t pull away. 

He allowed them to bask in the moment for just a few more seconds, before pulling away to deal with their very pressing matter.

Ruefully, he gave Nicolo another nod. “Go and pack home, I shall go back to the market for supplies that would not cause too much suspicion should he still be watching. I shall meet you at home in an hour’s time with the horses.”

_

One moment later they were off; Nicolo to their house and Yusuf to the market. 

He had tried to behave as normally as possible, speaking to the merchants he knew and smiling pleasantly to those he didn’t. The supplies he chose were very deliberate: some bread and dried fruit they haven’t managed to procure before the stranger’s rude introduction into their lives, few ropes and mending kits for their clothes, and some food for their horses.

He left the market for the stables, all too aware of people’s stares on his back as he walked, of everyone who stopped to say something to their own with their eyes on him, everyone who took a wider berth to pass him by, but hoped it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

The stableboy was the only one there when he arrived, and he made sure to pay him almost double to earn his silence. The boy quickly helped Yusuf arrange Hilal and Aftab, and before long he set off with the two of horses, one on each side of him. 

The main streets in Cairo were wider than Jerusalem and Damascus’ combined, but the side streets - which he opted for immediately - weren’t. Thankfully, they were deserted at this time of day, and he was able to get home in less time than he thought. 

He hitched them near the back door to their house, stepping inside and joining Nicolo in their shared living space.

“Just me,” he called in Italian so that Nicolo wouldn’t be alarmed, and observed the situation.

Most of their belongings were packed in the saddlebags and bags they had bought when they first arrived in Cairo. There wasn’t anything in the house to indicate they stayed there in the first place anymore - even the vase they were using as a weapon holder was gone, undoubtedly being placed on one of their neighbours front doorsteps. The blanket Nicolo loved was poking out of one of the bags, and all of their cooking supplies were gone too.

Nicolo was just packing the last things from the house when Yusuf entered, and he quickly made way to help him - sure that the rest was taken care of.

“I’ve been thinking about where we should go next,” Nicolo started in his usual way, although his voice was lower and more cautious than usual, “He’s come from the north, and men like him - they aren’t their own - which means somebody sent him-”

“We could go south then, or to the east... I heard some of the merchants there are welcoming enough, perhaps even-“

But Yusuf wasn’t able to finish the thought. The knock on their door was warning enough, but the call behind it was all it took for them to exchange a single look, shove everything into their bags and hope that was it. 

“In the name of the city, open up!”

Yusuf tilted his head towards the back door, their belongings distributed evenly between them as they made their way out as quickly and quietly as they could. There were barely any words needed; they have been more than prepared for a hasty retreat. Nicolo had made sure to have them memorise all escape routes out of Cairo, just in case. 

By the time whomever was demanding their attention at the front door had the mind to force their way in, Nicolo and Yusuf were already on their horses, running them as fast as the sidestreets would allow.

As they unmounted briefly to pass the gates out of the city and back into the wilderness outside its walls though, Yusuf thought of the boy from the library who’s heard entirely too much for his own safety, about their blithering gullible employer, about the family from which they were renting their house, about every passerby in that fateful alleyway the very first day, and of themselves, entirely too unprecedented of a pair to stay as nondescript as they needed to be to survive in any one place… 

_ Would they forever be nomads then? Forever on the run? _

“I think we should go north,” Nicolo said out of nowhere.

Yusuf was thankful for the distraction, both of them passing through the gates, blissfully uninterrupted. 

“North?” Yusuf repeated, “You said that’s where  _ he _ came from... Why there?”

“They would expect us to run, hide,” Nicolo shook his head, seemingly incredulous of his own thoughts, “They would expect us to go anywhere but where that man came from. Only somebody knows of us, somebody’s hunting us, and as long as they believe how they do, they won’t stop. We can’t leave this be, not if we ever want to feel safe again.”

Yusuf considered this as they got back on their horses. 

“The safest place is at the eye of the storm?” He muttered, his mind already racing ahead, thinking where and how they would go. “We would need to go to Alexandria... Then we would need to sail a boat.” 

He smirked then, looking over at Nicolo to see his reaction. As expected, a painful grimace claimed his face before shifting quickly into an impression of feeting humor.

“The lengths I go to to save your Ghoul skin from God’s justice,” he shot at Yusuf.

He responded with a huff in faux irritation, his voice slightly breathless now that they set a galloping pace for the horses. They still needed to put as much distance between themselves and the city as possible, after all. 

“What a lucky man I must be for you to sacrifice for me in such a way,” Yusuf said, turning for a second to see if they were being followed.

There was a certain air of general commotion about the city, he thought. A gut feeling more than anything Yusuf’s eyes had seen.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel less pleased once you see me wrenching with sea sickness,” Nicolo offered ruefully.

“Perhaps this will prevent you from gazing at my mild appearance once you’re focused into emptying your stomach,” Yusuf barked out, unable to hold his laughter any longer.

Nicolo joined him in, his own humor soft and apologetic. They needed this after attempting to put out one too many wildfires, the flames still biting at their heels. Yusuf could feel them as his mirth faded back to concentration, a look from Nicolo confirming the same, and they pushed the horses even harder.

The ground beneath their feet was shaking, promising chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some action? Cause we can't have good things last too long XD Also, 'cause Nicky and Joe could use a nudge right about now ;) As always let us know your thoughts, the comments inspire us so much!  
> ~A&K


	16. WHEN THE END COMES

Nicolo

Way to Alexandria, July 1098

  
  


They made it almost until dark without trouble. Their horses were worn out and thirsty, and so were they - ready to throw caution to the wind and stop at least for a little while - when Cairo finally gave chase. To Nicolo’s dismay, the party sent after them consisted mostly of city guards, with a few added sellswords in between. 

Their enemy must’ve either held some sway with the authorities or could afford the expenses, but either way this wasn’t good. Nicolo and Yusuf had spent enough time in Cairo to feel a degree of distaste at the idea of ridding it of its protectors.

“They won’t pursue us all the way to Alexandria,” Yusuf grunted with a mixture of familiar conviction and sheer unfounded hope, spurring them on, “We’ll just have to outrun them and eventually they’ll turn back.”

Nicolo wasn’t sure of that, but maybe they’d at least lose the guards - the mercenaries might not want to give up their lives for a coin once they saw what him and Yusuf were capable of in a fight…

“I’ll be right behind you,” Nicolo called back, “Hilal is barely holding up as it is, if I push him any harder he won’t last!”

Still, they kept in the lead until nightfall, but then in the dark, their exhausted horses began losing edge. Their pursuers must’ve been aware of it as well, as they separated into three groups - one remaining in the rear and two others catching up with Nicolo and Yusuf on both flanks, no doubt to cut them off.

“They already have the advantage in numbers, using war tactics is just cheating,” Yusuf gritted his teeth, twisting around to keep track of their opponents. 

“We can’t kill them, Yusuf,” Nicolo pleaded with him, or perhaps with himself, sure that the man knew as much already, fighting his every instinct just as Nicolo was, “They’re innocents in this! We’ll have to find another way.”

He noticed the doubt, the frustration on Yusuf’s face, and then it was all he could do to stay in the saddle as the two parts connected into one ahead of them, making their horses panic and break their maddened gallop. 

“In the name of the city, stop!” Someone called out in rough, breathless tongue, but Nicolo couldn’t see which of the riders it was. 

All he could do was watch Yusuf, wasting no time with pleasantries, as he crashed through the group with all his remaining speed making them scatter, knocking one man off his horse and clashing blades with another. Nicolo followed him into the skirmish, hitting Yusuf’s opponent in the back of the head with a pommel of his sword and feeling an explosion of pain in his side, as somebody else caught him. 

Everything was a confusion, the flashes of light from the torches, the calls, the neighing of horses, the whooshing of arrows from the darkness behind them, the points of searing pain through Nicolo’s back. One, two, three, four, he lost count...

A familiar scream had pierced the air, but not his own, he didn’t think. He whirred around, and the agony of his injuries took his breath away, made his vision blur.

“Nicolo!”

His body reacted to Yusuf’s voice entirely without conscience, he turned on pure instinct and directed Hilal to the only safety in all this havoc.

The look on Yusuf’s face was clear enough that he didn’t have to speak out loud.  _ They were going. Now. _

The horses seemed happy enough to obey such an order, as exhausted as they were, and fell into a gallop so fast Nicolo thought they might take off into the air.

A stray arrow whistled past him and found home in the muscle of Yusuf’s forearm, making him curse in Arabic and yank it out with too much force. There was another arrow piercing him through the lower back, the head of it sticking out from his stomach, that bothered Nicolo, but there was no helping it. They would have to get away first.

The screams and huffs of horses followed them for a while, but in the end it was only them and the howling of the wind. The terrain became more even in time too, and as the jostling subsided, so did the pain become more dull, more lulling, all but when Nicolo was trying to breathe.

Yusuf turned to check up on him, and as his eyes focused in the dark, his expression of anxiety turned to visible panic. Nicolo must’ve been a sight.

“What is-“ The man began, but Nicolo cut him off.

“Let’s just get a little farther.” This was bad, he sounded hoarse and weak, his words mixed in with ugly wet wheezes of his breaths.

“This is far enough,” Yusuf insisted darkly, rounding up his horse and leaving Nicolo no other choice but to follow.

The moment he was no longer in motion, Nicolo let his grip on the reins loosen, which turned out to be an error on his part. He slid from the saddle and dropped to the ground like a sack of grains. 

At least the ground beneath was solid and cool - it reverberated as Yusuf rushed over in a way that in Nicolo’s fevered state made him feel like he himself was the earth that Yusuf walked on. He felt more than heard how something small and metallic hit it, before Yusuf kneeled by his side.

“Nicolo, talk to me,” the man demanded, grabbing him in handfuls and pulling him onto his own lap. 

He didn’t have to though, like this it was impossible for Yusuf to miss the state of his back.

He cursed heavily, still in Arabic, some of his words new to Nicolo even now.

“That one sounds better in Italian,” he breathed out and groaned.

His feeble attempt at humor did nothing to alleviate Yusuf’s grimness.

“I’m going to pull the arrows out now,” he let Nicolo know, turning him over so that Nicolo’s face rested on one of Yusuf’s knees, “but one goes through your heart I think, so it’s going to be a bastard.”

Nicolo tried to laugh again, and it turned into a fit of coughing that surely tore something inside.

“Believe it or not, I’m not having the time of my life as it is,” he muttered, “Some would even say that death would be a blessing.”

He felt Yusuf tense around him.

“Don’t say that,” he begged tersely, through gritted teeth, and yanked one of the arrows out.

That one wasn’t so bad, Nicolo felt his flesh knitting together almost immediately. It was the last one that made his chest become solid with ache and his lungs paralyzed.

He welcomed the relief, the absence of feeling that death brought about, but just before the darkness took him fully, Yusuf spoke his name one last time, and the way he had said it made Nicolo suddenly scared. There was something that followed, something he wouldn’t hear, and it was terrifying.

This time had to have been quick. When he came to Yusuf was still holding him, still talking to him in Italian, his chin pressed to the top of Nicolo's head and his arms wrapped tight around Nicolo’s chest.

“I’m here,” he rasped back as soon as he could take in a breath.

He felt Yusuf sigh in relief; as Nicolo moved to pull away however, his arms didn’t loosen.

“Yusuf?” He asked.

The man shook his head, which he was only aware of for being so closely entwined.

Yusuf held him like that all through the night, and it was a restless and windy enough night, that Nicolo didn’t care to discourage him. The smooth pattern of Yusuf’s breathing alone was comforting enough, and then there was the warmth of his embrace.

The man shivered a little, and Nicolo squeezed his wrist the next time it happened, and didn’t remove his fingers either.

It was closer to sunrise when Yusuf finally seemed to have fallen asleep, and Nicolo felt almost sorry to wake him for a prayer at dawn - it was the last thought he remembered between letting his eyes close only for a second and opening them again to a bright sunlit morning. As he twisted around though, Yusuf was right there, sitting by his side, his hands clasped tight on his lap and his gaze far away.

_

Wordlessly, Yusuf led them across the road and down to a somewhat sheltered path down a river. Their horses were still exhausted, and Nicolo felt the deep bone tiredness that came with surviving yet another death settling in by the time they set up camp that evening. It was earlier than usual - probably a couple hours before dusk, but the spot they found was simply too good to pass up. With the river to their right and an overhang of rocks and greenery sheltering the place from every other angle, it looked more as a cave than anything else. 

Yusuf handed Nicolo Aftab’s reins as he went to check the place, and deemed it clear and secure after a few more moments. It was more than enough for them and the horses to fit in, and once they would have a fire going, Nicolo was sure any wildlife would stay away. 

“Crocodiles,” Yusuf said, the first word he spoke to Nicolo in a while, as the man looked ahead to the river where the reptiles swam by the bank. Nicolo nodded as he associated the name with the creature. “There’s a few of them here, and some snakes and hippopotamuses too... We’ll check the water before going in.”

“I’m going to miss this place,” he replied, feeling an ache akin to physical pain at the thought of returning to the lands he once called home, and of bringing Yusuf along with him. 

Yusuf nodded, a tight smile on his face as he breathed in the air. 

“Yes, it is quite exquisite,” he admitted and moved past Nicolo to start working on making fire, “I am sure the north would be beautiful in it’s own right, but as I’ve never been I would trust you to guide us.”

Nicolo let his eyelids fall shut for just a second, allowing his grief to take hold, before pushing it away. He followed Yusuf collecting brushwood along the way.

“It’s not the landscape that worries me,” he admitted, “It’s how well you would be received… When we talked about my family- They aren’t the only ones who’d be dismissive of you.”

As he let the words out, he gripped the twigs so hard some snapped, a thorn digging into his skin, sharp enough to draw blood. Yusuf was near him in an instant, and before Nicolo even had the notion to acknowledge how close they suddenly were, the man had already taken the branches from him, holding his bleeding hand in his own. Yusuf had examined it - the wound already closing, but the droplet blood still there, a stark contrast against Nicolo’s pale skin. Yusuf frowned upon it, wiping it clean, but holding on to the hand whence it came from even as it was gone. 

“We would be alright,” he insisted, “Tell me, though.”

Nicolo felt the ache return like ice through his bones and closed his fingers around Yusuf’s in a hold just fractionally less constricting than his grip of the twigs, only hoping he wasn’t causing any pain. In the moment he almost wished he never told Yusuf of the well-wisher’s danger, so he could’ve still changed his mind - go east, run away…

“The people are intolerant, prejudiced against anything they don’t understand, and us they will not,” Nicolo managed at last, “North of Messina they can’t be allowed to know that you are of a different faith - it would be a grave offence for us both… Even your appearance alone would be enough to raise questions from ones and be condemned by the others-” He broke off, too overwhelmed with frustration and sorrow to continue.

Yusuf must’ve seen the emotions across his face or perhaps felt them even. He tightened his hold on Nicolo in response, a light breath coming out of his mouth. At first, Nicolo thought he was flooded with the same notions and ideas, but then he spoke, and it was an entirely different response than what he expected. 

“A role reversal, then,” Yusuf smiled softly, the tone reassuring enough even if Nicolo heard the slight edge to it. “Seems as though everyone has been prejudiced against us... Whether in my lands or yours.”

“I’m still afraid it won’t be an equal exchange,” Nicolo pursed his lips in a false smile.

“We will be alright,” Yusuf insisted again and Nicolo thought he wanted to add something else, but he didn’t. 

Instead he squeezed Nicolo’s hand one last time before letting go, turned back to their small camp and started arranging various branches for a fire, only stopping once it was big enough.

“We will,” Yusuf added as he took Nicolo’s unconvinced look. “As long as you won’t leave me alone anymore.” 

He had a pointed look about him and a smile that meant he was teasing Nicolo again, but then Nicolo also remembered how Yusuf’s voice sounded when he called him by the name right before the swift death took him away, and couldn’t help but worry. 

“Some matters can’t be helped I’m afraid, my friend,” he mused out loud, “And with our luck, death is bound to be one of them.”

With the horses and the fire taken care of, Yusuf gestured for Nicolo to sit by him. The sun was about to start setting and now cooler air breezed through the river. 

“It was less than pleasing to see, though...” Yusuf trailed off for just a second before he collected himself. “It’s not a sight I would ever be fond of, I suppose. So no matter how right you may be, forgive me if I fight to the death and beyond to not have it happen again.”

“Forgive you?” Nicolo breathed, the warmth of the fire and how close Yusuf was by his side, making him wonder whether he could ever bear the world where they weren’t together, “I’d never- I never thought there was a way to care for any single person’s existence in this world the way I care about yours. It’s not a matter of forgiveness at all. It’s a matter of perseverance, and whatever happens…”

Nicolo didn’t know how to continue, he didn’t know what he was meaning to ask, to beg of Yusuf, he only hoped that this man in front of him would be the sun that illuminated the lives of everyone around him until the end of the days, and if there indeed was a God, than after that as well.

Yusuf sucked in a deep breath throughout Nicolo’s speech. He had been listening carefully to each word he had said, like it was the single most important thing in the world, like it was the reason for everything, like it was only the two of them in the entire world.

“Tell me what you are asking of me,” he requested then, turning fully to look at Nicolo with such hope in his eyes. “I would say yes, you know that.”

Nicolo couldn’t seem to catch his breath, couldn’t make himself order his thoughts to form the sentence that he knew Yusuf would rebel against no matter what he said now. He made himself do it regardless - this might’ve been the single most important conversation they would have, and now it was more imperative than ever. 

“If we ever get separated, by death or circumstance outside your power, I want you to keep moving forward. Because no matter what purpose you choose with your mind and your heart, I know it would be good for this world and it would matter more than my being alive ever could.”

“I would say yes to anything,” Yusuf started, repeating his words from before, his tone loaded with meaning and his eyes alight with emotion, “But there is no reason or purpose in this without you.” 

He stopped again to take another deep breath, the only audible thing beside them - the fire cracking and the night creatures turning up for the night. 

“There is no place on earth I wouldn’t search if we get separated, and as for death... It would not come between us, as even in death I would find you, and you me. So there is no need for idle promises for a prospect that would never come to pass, as the only vow I am willing to take is finding you again again, in death or in life, and I know you would vow the same.”

Nicolo would, of course he would, even if it wasn’t the same entirely… His caring for Yusuf was beyond what people were meant to feel for each other, it was an admiration that would take millennia to express, and even then he was sure there would be still aspects of it never discovered, like the depths of the deepest seas. His very care for the world’s wellbeing was the care for Yusuf and vice versa, because the two had become synonymous - inadvertently intertwined. As he wished for the world to exist and prosper, and increase, with or without him, so he wished for Yusuf.

He didn’t have the words to express it though, and then wasn’t sure if he should…

“There is a saying that my father used to love,” he began very softly, in a manner of explanation, “No man is an island - it means that we do not and cannot exist in isolation from each other. But in these months with you it felt more as if you were the ocean, and I only a stone. And sometimes I wish you would see that, because causing you pain scares me more than anything ever did in this life.”

Yusuf took Nicolo’s hand in his once again, intertwining their fingers, and raised them so Nicolo would be able to observe the sentiment as Yusuf spoke. 

“No disrespect to your father, as I am sure he is wise. We need each other, yes, but we are two of the same - equals. Destiny may have chosen us to meet, but we chose to weave our lives together, pain or bliss. And this will stay, for however long we shall enjoy this miracle. And I will remind you of this until the last breath we take.”

Nicolo looked at their hands, molded together in perfect symmetry, perfect contrast, and couldn’t deny Yusuf’s words. There was another flash in his mind, akin in a way to the dreams they’ve been having of each other, so sure was the notion, which told him that when the end came - no matter how many times it came - they would be still is intertwined, there to bring each other back, call each other home, or follow where no man before them was able to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of our favourite chapters so far, and you aren't even ready for what's to come XD   
> Let us know what you think and please check out the fanart glaucousgoblin.tumblr.com drew for us, because it absolutely blew us away and we can't thank this beautiful person and amazing artist enough! 
> 
> https://glaucousgoblin.tumblr.com/post/630519484311076864/heaven-is-a-place-chapter-1-wethewriters-the
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!  
> ~A&K


	17. DEEP THE WATER

Yusuf

Waters of Alexandria, August 1098

  
  


The open sea and the breeze that brought salty water into their faces was something Yusuf did not think he had missed.

It had been a few good years since he was on a boat such as this, while he was still susceptible to death and injuries, but the feeling was the same - the endless expanse of glistening blue waves and the confined barrel of dark oak that swayed as it moved them onwards.

Alexandria port was just like any other he had been to, perhaps with keener trade and merchants who had been kind enough to take them aboard after looking at their weapons and coming to the undeniable conclusion that Nicolo and Yusuf were passengers worth having around for the journey. They have paid half the sum for passage to Messina the first day, agreed on the rest once they docked, and thankfully no one questioned their haste in leaving the land or their being an unlikely pair. As far as travel went, Yusuf concluded, this had been a fair trade - no queries in exchange for their skills as warriors, with a slight reduction in price.

As they were embarking and leaving the port at last, Yusuf was able to breathe once more, all thoughts of being chased abandoned, and the idea of being at sea again starting to feel more like a promise for a new life, than a memory.

He turned to Nicolo, standing by the rails next to him. He watched the port edging away from view with the same expression Yusuf undoubtedly had on his face. 

“Should I move away, now? Before your guts get the best out of you,” Yusuf said, nudging Nicolo’s shoulder playfully.

“Maybe even to a separate boat,” Nicolo laughed along, “Who knows how bad it’s going to be.”

But he didn’t look too poorly - there was still flush on his cheeks and light in his eyes, and the wind blowing through his hair was making him look like something untamed… Making Yusuf’s fingers itch to either touch or draw him. 

Still Yusuf only chuckled at the remark, shaking any and all other ideas from his mind, saving them perhaps for later. 

“Unfortunately I am tied to this boat, and you look well enough, so let us see how long this lasts.”

It seemed to last, long enough for Nicolo to stop looking wary and dread-ridden at least. They found some crates to sit on out of the way of deck hands, and watched the thin stripe of land fade on the horizon.

“Say, do you still have my old cross?” Nicolo wondered, sounding very nonchalant except for a slight hitch in his breathing. 

Yusuf thought back to that day by the Asi river, Nicolo - still an enemy back then, still a threat - handing him over the last physical remnant of his faith to be sold or tossed away. Yusuf didn’t linger on other religions before Nicolo, never thought they mattered as long as people were good, and when the Christians came for the land that wasn’t theirs, it made Yusuf even less interested to learn. Still it did not mean he wasn’t able to grasp the notion of how important faith was to a person, so the idea of getting rid of something that was so fundamentally a part of Nicolo seemed, even back then, incredibly cruel.

“Yes,” he answered, moving to reach his bag. “Do you want it now?”

Nicolo didn’t reply, even as Yusuf dug through his possessions to find the small slab of gold and presented it on his open palm, even as Nicolo picked it up and studied it - gleaming in the light like a tiny sun. 

“You know, I have half a mind to throw it overboard,” he said at last, frowning, “It would make things easier for us though, if they don’t have to ask... And yet the idea of lying to everyone I meet again, even just with this-”

He held the necklace between his thumb and forefinger - such a small thing, and yet seemingly filled with such power over Nicolo’s mind.

“If they don’t have to ask whether you’re still a believer?” Yusuf inquired.

In truth, he just did not understand. The days before, when Nicolo spoke of people in his lands and their views... Yusuf thought it was the same everywhere - people not accepting what was different from them. He thought of Hama and that man’s words to Nicolo and how in Damascus they needed to conceal Nicolo’s appearance. He thought in Nicolo’s lands, it would be the same for him... But the man made it sound like there was more to it.

He turned to Yusuf then, the cross still in the air between them, but Nicolo’s eyes - impossibly bright with the sea all around them - on Yusuf himself.

“I don’t think I am anymore,” he said with surprising tranquility considering the air of their discussion so far, “I don’t think I still believe in this.” He closed his fist around the cross, “In God and his laws, and his vengeance… I do quite think that there is a force - or perhaps forces - out there that drive this world and marvel in the chaos and the balance of it all. But I don’t think we owe anything to these forces or belong to them, not any more than they belong or owe anything to us. We are our own, and our choices and minds are our own, and there’s nobody other than ourselves to hold us accountable…”

Nicolo trailed off in the end, glancing almost nervously at Yusuf, worrying that he perhaps came off as offensive.

Yusuf smiled for a moment, considering his words. He had a feeling, he supposed, that faith came in different measures and ideals, and perhaps that was what Nicolo needed to hear.

“Faith is personal,” he started, taking Nicolo’s fist and opening it to reveal the cross. “It is what we make of it, with a God to worship or a belief that this is a will from above, or neither of those things - it doesn’t matter. As long as you do goodness out of your heart, it’s enough. If your faith tells you to kill and hurt, then it is wrong, but if it tells you to bless and help others, then it is right. It is what you make of it - all the books and teachings would do you no good unless you know the difference between wrong and right, between being good and evil, as your own person and not what someone tells you is appropriate or not.” 

Yusuf took a breath for a moment, tapping the golden cross. “You can believe in what you want, in what you feel is right, and no one should have the right to correct you.”

Nicolo looked to be put at ease by his words for only a beat, and then his smile darkened. 

“And yet correct us they will,” he muttered gravely, “And not only that - being a pagan in many places we’re to travel through is punishable by death. And they would call us heretics and witches if they knew both who and what we are. They will ask and they cannot know, Yusuf, neither what’s in your heart nor what’s in mine...”

Never in his life had Yusuf needed to pretend. He wasn’t always welcome for it, but it always made sense to be who he is, and have people see that. For all it was worth, he supposed the further north they traveled, the less an attitude like that would work. 

“Should we find another cross, then?” He asked, hoping to add some levity to the conversation. 

It was a difficult subject, worth thousands of discussions, and he always seemed to opt for talking rather than anything else, but he needed to know what was expected of him... Hiding their immunity to death and wounds was one thing, but to disguise himself as a man of a different religion? He wasn’t sure what he thought of it.

Nicolo smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

“Let’s hope it wouldn’t come to that,” he muttered, “I’d never ask you to give up a part of yourself that way, not even for a pretense. We would have to decide on a plausible explanation as to why we travel together, and then we probably shouldn’t linger in any one place for longer than necessary. I’m not as well-loved in my lands as you are in yours and I don’t have many friends who would welcome us no questions asked, so it’s not going to be an easy journey, but as long as we’re together, I suppose- And I want you to know that no matter what happens I’ll stand by you - till my last breath if I have to - because the things they believe, the things they think they know - it holds no power over either you or me. Because they don’t know the most important thing - they don’t know your soul, and if they don’t care to then in my eyes it’s an offence beyond forgiveness.”

“We will figure it out,” Yusuf replied, speaking more for Nicolo’s benefit than anything. The man needed to hear that more often perhaps, to finally believe he was not alone, and Yusuf would reassure him as many times as it would take. 

“Together,” he emphasised. 

Still, it didn’t feel like enough, not by the look on Nicolo’s face - and the urge to show him overshadowed anything else, so Yususf could only lean closer, still holding on to the other man’s hand, and put his forehead to Nicolo’s, holding him there, hoping to convey everything and anything his words couldn’t.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf started, rubbing the back of his neck in reassurance. “You are not them... I know you are not who your people are, but you need to know it too. You need to know that you’re different from them - perhaps of the same roots, but a much better example of humanity’s kindness and acceptance, and this is how I’ll always see you - and so should you.”

Finally, he could feel Nicolo let out a shaky breath and relax, his eyes falling shut and his free hand coming up to grasp at the shoulder of Yusuf’s tunic.

“Some day they’ll know the error of their ways, as I know it,” he whispered so quietly it felt like yet another secret between them, like yet another vow that Nicolo was resolving to hold the world to, “Until then, I am sorry.”

_

  
  


It was a strange thing to have so much time on their hands what after running for their lives, but also dreading the point they were approaching. Yusuf knew it was making Nicolo just as restless as himself - the man barely slept, jerking awake at every creak of the planks and then tossing and turning for hours. 

Yusuf wanted to comfort him somehow, but wasn’t sure if he knew how… His thoughts kept taking him back to the night they escaped Cairo and how they clung to each other through the night, but that was fear and worry pushing them - pushing him - to the extreme. He wasn’t sure Nicolo would welcome this sort of affection now that they were relatively - if temporarily - safe.

The sun and the lulling of the waves made him drift away now though, the steady motion of the boat never taking the effect he’s been so apprehensive about after all, and Yusuf found his hands shaking with the effort to stay away. He got his sketchbook out for something to do, and yet as he thought of a subject for his next drawing, there was nothing on his mind but Nicolo. 

He didn’t think he could do him justice… Not for the lack of practice, like before with the women they dreamt of - he’s drawn so many faces since, the small book was halfway filled - but for the sheer complexity of the man’s beauty. For all the times Yusuf teased Nicolo for admiring him, it was Nicolo himself who was truly worth gazing at. His features were like science - in inexplicable correlation with each other to create exquisite harmony from simplicity, and then there was something subtle, elusive that brought all of it to life, that made the parts of the whole as graceful and breathtaking as they were.

As he finished his third mediocre sketch, Yusuf found himself wishing Nicolo would open his eyes - maybe that was the secret to it… Still, he cursed under his breath when one of the sailors called out to the captain at the top of his lungs.

Nicolo sucked in a sharp breath and sat up, his eyes slightly unfocused until they found Yusuf.

“So we’re still on this cursed thing,” he muttered in barely coherent Italian, “Knew it had to be a dream…”

Yusuf chuckled. “Were you dreaming of being on land, then?” 

He took his wish for granted, and stopped drawing so he could talk to Nicolo, oddly curious of his sleeping wanderings. The man blinked slowly and waved his hand in the air as if to get his thoughts in order. 

“In that cave on the way to Alexandria,” he explained slowly, “Must be the sound of the waves that brought it on.”

Four days prior to where they were now, in the most secluded spot Yusuf had ever been in while in the wild... the sound of the river and wildlife around them, and most importantly... As his hands moved ahead of him - Yusuf had to physically stop them, choosing instead to have one on his leg and another clutching his sketchbook. The thought of Nicolo sleeping soundly while Yusuf watched them, each fibre of his being urging him to hold Nicolo like he did when he was dying in his arms... 

Yusuf shook his head, getting rid of futile thoughts. He gazed once at the sketch of Nicolo and then at the man himself.

“Yes, I suppose there is peace in sleeping with crocodiles nearby.”

Nicolo, still in his drowsiness, breathed out a laugh, his eyes on the book in Yusuf’s hands.

“There were no crocodiles in my dream,” he half-heartedly argued, “You’ve been drawing?”

Yusuf didn’t see the need to hide, as not only Nicolo would be able to tell, he was also within reach to see the book, if he wanted to.

“You,” he simply said.

He watched Nicolo’s expression finally lose the softness of sleep, turning instead into surprise.

“Me?” He repeated in awe.

Yusuf merely smirked again, and passed him the sketchbook, open on the page with the three renderings of Nicolo’s sleeping face flowing in and out of each other. 

“Next time you’ll have to be awake for it,” he said without letting himself think of the words too much, “I keep missing something when you have your eyes closed.”

Nicolo didn’t seem to be immediately aware of his words, as his eyes remained with the drawing for the longest time. Yusuf almost began to worry, when he opened his mouth to speak at last.

“You aren’t missing anything,” was his reply, making that last word sound like entirely more than Yusuf could comprehend, “You do see it all, even the things I myself didn’t seem to see…”

Yusuf hummed in response, too focused on Nicolo’s gaze as it took in every line. 

“Doesn’t seem like I do it much justice,” he muttered. “It’ll get better with practice, though.”

Nicolo finally glanced up and appeared about to respond, when the calls and the general commotion from the deck hands caught their attention again. Yusuf felt himself tense - a force of habit making him expect nothing good, and caught in the corner of his eye Nicolo having the same reaction.

They were mistaken however - it didn’t look like much, no ships approaching, only a thin stripe of land on the horizon.

“Isn’t it too early for Messina?” Yusuf wondered out loud, getting to his feet and offering a hand for Nicolo to join him.

What looked like a formation of crooked tan rock, speked in places with greenery, turned out upon closer examination to be a cityscape with a mix of familiar architecture and all around new kind of buildings, more precise than those Yusuf had been used to. There were walls surrounding the city, but even beyond it life spilled over. Seagals roamed over a lively port, although their course seemed to be taking them past it.

“It’s not Messina,” Nicolo told him in a low voice, “It’s Malta.”

“Are we making a stop?” He asked one of the sailors, curious and somewhat hopeful for a delay.

“Only on our way back to Alexandria,” was his response.

In the end, the deck hands were made to return to their duties, leaving Yusuf alone with Nicolo again, the city with all its mysteries remaining, while they were passing it by.

“Maybe once we’re done we can come see it,” Nicolo suggested, his voice somehow equal parts hopeful and sad, “It’s under Muslim rule so I’ve never been before, but I suppose it sees enough people for us to get lost among them for a while…”

“I’ve never been this far north,” Yusuf said. “But I remember the maps. If this is Malta,” he stared at the other side of the island, to their south, “There must be Tunis,” he pointed in the general direction.

Nicolo followed his line of sight.

“Your home?”

“Yes,” Yusuf nodded. 

It was odd, being so close and yet so far. If he squinted, he thought he would be able to see the beginning of a shoreline... Maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him. 

“It’s a short distance from the port,” Yusuf continued, “My hometown, I mean... maybe a day’s ride, two if you take your time...” He trailed off, feeling suddenly homesick. 

He turned to Nicolo, a fond smile on his face. An expression the man returned, his own gaze equally clouded.

“If you think about it, we’ve been such a short distance apart from each other all along,” he mused, “Such a whim of fate to have us meet worlds away…”

Yusuf grinned. 

“Perhaps the halfway point for our worlds would be Malta,” he looked back at the island, slowly leaving their sight.

Nicolo rested a hand on his back, watching as well, and it felt very much like a silent  _ yes _ .

_

  
  


At nights, below deck, Nicolo and Yusuf found a rather secluded spot in between crates and not too far from their horses that was private enough to talk and not be overheard. It took until the second night for Yusuf to be able to sleep at the same time as Nicolo, no longer fearing an attack in the dark. 

This night was different though, as Yusuf was unable to find peace even as the hours passed by. In the next day or so they would reach Messina, all thoughts of small safety would be gone and they would have to be on constant alert all the time.

He would miss this, he already did; he missed Cairo, too, their home seemed like a far away dream now. 

A movement to his left caught his attention, and he looked down to see Nicolo on his side with his back to Yusuf, the man’s features as clear as they could be, considering their only source of light was a candle on a faraway beam.

Yusuf considered him as he pulled his own knees against his chest, resting his head on his forearms and examining Nicolo. He tried not to keep track of time; it was hard - a need too deeply ingrained to fully shake off - but he knew there were more important things than the few months they had known each other. 

A few months felt right, though it seemed longer, in a way. How quickly they moved from enemies to allies of sorts, and then to friends... 

His heart twisted unpleasantly at the thought of them being merely friends - it was too incomplete, lacking, impermanent. He had come to realise - especially after Nicolo dying in his arms - that his feelings ran much deeper than simple friendship, companionship. There were times when he thought Nicolo felt the same, but neither of them were able to find the moment or the words to say it. He supposed, after plenty of self reasoning, that when the time would be right, he shall breach the subject. 

Patience, he reminded himself in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ameera’s. 

Yusuf had come to cherish the idea of having someone like Nicolo in his life, for once not having to worry about watching his own back, and if that was all they were - he would treasure it all the same.

He truly was grateful to have found a steadfast companion in all this madness. 

Nicolo moved again in his uneasy sleep, cutting his late night musing. His expression was different now, not the same peaceful one from before - one of the things Yusuf did keep track of, not that he would willingly admit it out loud just yet - but a thoughtful one. Yusuf knew it wasn’t a nightmare, as Nicolo hadn’t frowned yet, but he was becoming anxious to help lately, and his hand moved out of its own accord - desperate to ease his friend’s trouble. 

He watched as he touched his fingers to Nicolo’s cheek, the angle somewhat uncomfortable as he had his elbow over Nicolo’s head. It worked like magic, like whatever force that bound them together. Any and all tension bled out of Nicolo’s face, and Yusuf moved the hand, slightly caressing his cheek. 

Come morning, he thought, he wouldn’t say a word to Nicolo, treasuring the moment and adding it to the list of important things to keep track of… Except surely Nicolo never let him get away with his small indiscretions, so why would he this once?

His expression just as tranquil, he lifted his hand to cover Yusuf’s on his cheek, the contact so warm and welcoming, he didn’t even think of pulling away.

“Did I wake you?” Nicolo whispered, without opening his eyes. Yusuf couldn’t be sure if he was even fully awake, although he sounded lucid enough.

Yusuf chuckled, the sound suddenly too loud for the quietness around them. Of course, Yusuf’s touch woke him up, and still all Nicolo could think of was disturbing him. 

“No,” he said. “But I woke you, I’m sorry.”

“Can’t sleep?” Nicolo turned slightly, as if to look over his shoulder, but his eyes still shut.

The boat rocked on an errant wave, making Yusuf lean even closer, rest his side against Nicolo’s back and bump one of his knees against the man’s ribs a little.

“Sorry,” Yusuf muttered, even as he didn’t make any attempts to pull away, “I guess not,” he then answered Nicolo’s question, not looking away from him. “You should go back to sleep, though. We would need to rest before tomorrow...”

“It’s alright,” he sighed, “tell me?”

It was the most thrilling thing - to feel Nicolo’s words take shape, to have him so at ease, in no hurry to let go... And his question - so effortless and all encompassing, as if no matter what was on Yusuf’s mind he would be accepted for it.

“Just how time goes...” he said eventually. 

It was not a lie, his mind supplied helpfully, and even if it wasn’t the whole truth, it was enough. The time to talk about their feelings would come soon, he thought. For the moment though, he was content with the proximity between them, growing slowly with each passing second, minute, hour, eon.

“Can hardly be helped by staying up thinking about it,” Nicolo reasoned, “Just lie down and rest, the sleep would come in the end.”

Yusuf was about to respond, another soft smile already claiming his lips, when Nicolo slid his fingers in between Yusuf’s and pulled him gently closer, so that his arm would be around Nicolo’s chest. The effort was barely there and yet Yusuf couldn’t help but accommodate him, coming to lie on his side with Nicolo’s back to him, much as they were at the night of his death near Cairo.

It should have been odd really how easy it was for Yusuf to take as much comfort from Nicolo as he carelessly gave away, but then why would it? He wrapped his arm tighter around Nicolo’s middle, letting himself be drawn to the immediate pull of the other man. In the steady rocking of the night it was much easier, his heart drumming a contented rhythm, like he was right where he belonged.

Nicolo as usual had a point of course - as Yusuf settled in behind him, he felt himself slowly drifting off. Perhaps that was why the words left his mouth in a silent murmur, a long while after he felt Nicolo's breathing become even and deep against his chest.

“It can’t be helped... And yet what am I to do but to wish for the time to stand still?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so things are changing it seems... ;) Sorry for the delayed update, our schedule's gonna be a lot more regular from now! Let us know what you think in the comments as always <3  
> ~A&K


	18. HAZE

Nicolo

Port Messina, August 1098

There was a grey haze above Messina the day they finally reached it, which Nicolo found as both fitting and inevitable - an omen to prove the feeling of uneasiness that churned within him. 

He’s never been to the city before, although his father travelled there on occasion, and now Nicolo understood why. The port was lively and enormous, with ships going in and out, the workers swarming around, yelling to each other in both Italian and Arabic, and then some Greek and other languages that were altogether unfamiliar. From the sea it looked like a scattered mixture of buildings in all manners of styles - the old Roman architecture blended in with timeless-looking oriental homes from Yusuf’s land, and then some newer buildings, but as they disembarked, swallowed immediately by the thick crowd of traders and travellers, and sailors, it reminded him of an anthill more than anything else. 

Nicolo looked to his right, on how Yusuf seemed to take it all in just the same. With one hand on the horses’ reins and the other free to take his weapon if needed, he had a wondrous look on his face - a look that made Nicolo smile despite himself at how it was a new experience for the both of them, at how they would share it and have it as one memory between two minds.

“I feel like we blend in,” Yusuf said once he saw Nicolo’s expression.

“We should still be careful,” he replied, “But yes, I must admit it is not what I expected.”

The flow of people carried them ahead, away from the shore and deeper into the streets, wider than anywhere they’ve been recently, partially paved with stone. They followed generally after a group of deck hands talking loudly about an inn and seeming excited to be ashore. 

“Sailors usually know all the gossip,” Yusuf said, keeping his voice low. He nodded at the group ahead of them - must’ve already known Nicolo was sharing his thoughts.

“And the man such as our well-wisher, was bound to catch someone’s attention,” Nicolo agreed.

Admittedly, it was a long shot - Messina clearly saw a lot of travel, but if the man they met in Cairo indeed came through here, the ship he sailed, with some luck, might’ve been just making its return trip. They would have to keep an ear out just in case, although it didn’t seem as though anyone other than themselves was keen on keeping any secrets around these parts…

The inn was not too far, they were pleased to discover, a tavern spilling out of the sandstone building and onto the street indeed filled with sailors sitting in rowdy groups, talking animatedly mostly in Italian, bread and cheese, and olives on their plates and wine in their cups. Through the archway of the door, propped open with a crooked stone, were still more tables, hidden within the dimly lit interior. 

Yusuf seemed content with having Nicolo take the lead, and together they walked to one of the tables inside, within earshot of both the street and indoors, but still hidden enough to keep to themselves if they wanted to.

Nicolo found himself suddenly starving for the familiar foods as he watched the barmaid serve the nearest table, and the wine…

“It’s been months since I last had any good wine,” he chuckled to himself, imagining his father’s reaction to the fact, “I hope this place is alright, we wouldn’t want your first impression to be spoiled.”

Yusuf smiled. “I don’t drink wine,” he said softly. His eyes were on Nicolo in a moment, considering him. “I don’t drink alcohol, as it’s forbidden in my religion...” he trailed off then, like he wasn’t sure any more.

Nicolo felt suddenly as the most uncourteous host, shocked to have not known that much about Yusuf after all the time they’ve spent together, and to have flung the suggestion at him so unceremoniously and so surely.

“I’m sorry to-” he began and broke off, “I’m- I’m sorry, it was insensitive of me and I didn’t mean to assume- It’s nothing special, really, and you know, I don’t think I’m having any either.”

There was the proof of everything he’s been apprehensive about at the idea of coming back - not even an hour in the city that wasn't as much as a part of his homeland, and he was already reverting to his old ways… 

As if he felt Nicolo’s self-reproach, Yusuf reached out for the hand Nicolo had on the small table between them and put his own on his wrist, squeezing slightly for reassurance.

“Nonsense,” he said with a tender smile, the sides of his eyes wrinkling as whenever he was smiling too wide. “It never came up, so of course we haven’t discussed it before. And besides, I’ve heard great things about wine, so you should enjoy it for the both of us.”

Nicolo felt himself settle and exhale, his mind finding a point of equilibrium in the warmth of Yusuf’s fingers. He wished he could take the man’s hand, to use it for an anchor in the world that seemed created precisely to get the best of him, but decided this wasn’t the place. They needed to get accustomed to more caution than what they’ve grown used to by being alone together, accustomed to being surrounded by other people…

They had food, which was good, fresh, but almost too plain after the rich spices of the east; and upon more of Yusuf’s assurances and then some teasing, Nicolo had wine, which was nowhere near the quality of his father’s. It was after Nicolo went to inquire about a room for the night and returned with the good news, just as he was sitting down, that they heard a loud groan, followed by a flow of complaints.

In perfect unison, they looked at a table not far from theirs. Sitting there were five men, almost all of them armed, despite not looking like soldiers. They had a sense of comradeship about them though, like they’ve known each other for a long time, and one of them held up a cup similar to Nicolo’s, and sighed deeply.

“They keep telling me to seek passage south,” he said. “I can’t even go to the docks anymore, too scared that somebody would throw me below deck of some ship and be done with it.”

The rest of them laughed, as if it was some sort of a joke, though the man speaking looked miserable. 

“No one in their right mind would try to force you to go to that war!” Another had said, clapping his hand on the previous speaker’s back. 

“Yeah,” someone else chimed in, “You can’t even tell which is the pointed end of the sword!”

“The last time I’ve been to the construction site the priest wouldn’t even see me, not to mention pay me,” the first man continued, seemingly unaware of the amusement of his brethren, after a little too much to drink perhaps, “And there was this one fellow I ran into outside of the priest’s chambers - you should’ve seen his hands!”

“Hands?” Yusuf murmured, his face closer to Nicolo’s to ensure as much privacy as possible. As the men spoke in Italian, he opted to use Arabic, just in case. “Do you think this could be our well-wisher?”

“We better make sure,” Nicolo nodded, “He seems to be in need of coin, but it’s the company that bothers me - a talkative lot…”

“Yes, Godly men are terrifying indeed,” another from the group chimed in, cackling into his cup, “If only they had no hands!”

Yusuf hummed for a moment, before his expression turned thoughtful. Nicolo was able to see him visibly calculate their best course of action.

“Perhaps we should wait for them to split up, he seems drunk enough,” he gestured to the man who spoke first, now having his head on his arms in defeat. “Or maybe wait until he goes to piss, we can probably get away with questioning him when he’s alone...”

“With some luck he might not even remember it,” Nicolo agreed.

They had to wait a while - the band moving to cheerier subjects, making their way through two more jugs of wine before departing. The overcast sky had turned dim by the time, which was in their favor really, as they had to follow the men some ways across the city before they finally broke apart.

The one they needed - brawny and clad in light leather armor - staggered down an alleyway muttering to himself. 

“I feel like it’s my higher calling to do this,” Yusuf said, a wicked smile finding place on his lips. To Nicolo’s questioning stare he was only able to say, “All in good nature, of course.”

Nicolo shook his head then, fighting back a smile. 

“As long as we can avoid starting another rumor of your mythical evil.” 

“Just a friendly conversation this time, you have my word.” Yusuf then closed the distance between himself and the man in a few long strides, and gestured for Nicolo to help guide him into a secluded corner of the street.

“Oh, oy!” The man slurred, trying to struggle against Yusuf’s hold but failing, ending up with his figure slouched half on Yusuf, “I don’t know you... You’re not my friends, what do you want?” he managed eventually.

Yusuf chuckled, looking over at Nicolo in disbelief. 

“Is that what your people are like?” He wondered happily.

“I did warn you,” Nicolo shrugged, feigning dismay.

“Nonsense, we worried for nothing!” Yusuf waved him off. “Don’t be shy, little man, we can be your new friends.”

The little man, who was half a head taller and somewhat wider than Yusuf in the shoulders, scowled and struggled to focus his eyes, turning to look between them in a way that didn’t promise anything good.

“We heard of your struggles and came to your aid,” Nicolo assured him goodnaturedly, “Think of us as guardian angels.”

The man’s eyes widened in a way that only a drunk’s could, innocent and unfocused, and Yusuf had to mask his laugh as a cough when he said, “Really? Have you come to save me from my nightmares?”

Yusuf still held most of his weight, and smirked at Nicolo. 

“Yes, of course, we heard you pray yourself away from war and despair.”

The man clutched Yusuf’s tunic desperately. 

“It’s a horrible thing, my friend!”

Yusuf nodded vehemently in return. 

“Of course, of course,” he said and turned the man to face Nicolo, freeing the fabric of his shirt from his fingers, “Tell us what you have seen, so we can help.”

“What I have seen?” The man grunted, his voice slow with immense concentration.

“Yes, was there someone who wronged you?” Nicolo played along, resisting from rubbing his nose bridge in scorn.

The man nodded along with the question, muttering: “Yes, yes.” while Yusuf shook with barely contained humor.

Nicolo wondered briefly if they were being unkind, but this was too important to let the thought sway him. Regardless, a conversation of any sort was preferable to drawing of weapons. 

“The priest from the new cathedral hasn’t paid me for standing guard,” the drunk complained again, “And when I went to demand what’s mine they told me I have to be fighting in the Crusade instead of harassing godly men if I want to save my soul from being thrust into the pits of hell. And war is horrible, horrible, I tell you…”

“The audacity!” Yusuf said, his voice a pitch higher in trying to sell his role, “War is indeed horrible, little man.”

The man turned to look at Yusuf again, and while Nicolo was only able to see his profile, he looked downright terrified. 

“They tell you it’s holy, but how can it be...” he started muttering with a slight edge of paranoia, and Yusuf put his hand to his shoulder, soothing him. 

“What did you see in the cathedral?” He asked, his eyes on Nicolo the whole time, losing some of the mirth.

The drunk seemed to consider this, probably to grasp at the memory that was slipping away. 

“He had a man there... he looked mad, insane, with scars over his hands and- and...”

“Did he say anything to you?” Yusuf pressed.

“Yes!” The drunk exclaimed, so loudly they had to glance around, and yet Nicolo couldn’t help but feel accomplishment, like they hadn’t made all this way for nothing. 

“Yes, he said,” the man tried to imitate the well-wisher’s tone, but it came out funny, like a child trying to sound like an adult, “Get out of my way, boy, I have important things to deal with,” he paused, returning to his usual voice. “Or something like that...”

“You did well,” Nicolo breathed, equal parts relieved and anxious, “Rest easy now, it would all work out.”

Yusuf took his cue, and used his hand to punch the man in a way that would knock him out, but not do much damage otherwise. He caught his body as it slackened, lowering the drunk onto the ground as gently as he could. 

The man would wake up tomorrow morning with no other recollection than of two angels coming to his rescue, which would thankfully be absurd enough to not lead any more people to their doorstep.

“You make a very good guardian angel,” Yusuf commented once he was near Nicolo again, smirking playfully.

“Let’s hope this one doesn’t stick as well as the other one,” Nicolo muttered back sheepishly, as he found his purse and counted the coin he could spare, before leaning down to dispose of them in their unlikely ally’s pocket, “Although, from how easily he believed it, I suppose it suits us better.”

Yusuf chuckled. 

“Well, I suppose it does suit one of us,” he said, referring to Nicolo’s act.

“So what are the odds, do you think, that our newfound angelic allure would work on the local Cathedral’s priest?” He responded, straightening up and following Yusuf in his discreet escape from the alley. 

Yusuf smiled, waiting a moment longer for Nicolo to catch up. 

“I think the skills are transferable, if we try hard enough. And if not, there’s always the other way,” he shrugged then - the idea clearly didn’t sound at the very least appealing in his mind.

“Let us not go the other way just yet,” Nicolo frowned, “They may be missguided, but they are only limbs, and this serpent needs its head cut off. There’s no point drawing attention to ourselves beforehand, by chopping left and right.”

“Chopping wouldn’t be necessary,” Yusuf answered, looking ahead, oddly thoughtful, “I simply meant there are other ways rather than tricking someone into thinking we want the best for them...” he paused to think, just for a few short seconds. “We can figure it out tomorrow, though. It has been quite a day, and we need rest while we can still get it.”

Nicolo couldn’t help but agree, and as they made their way back to the inn, allowed his mind and eyes to wander. He barely kept track of the neighbourhood as they followed their target - only enough to find their way back - and now really took in the streets for the first time. It seemed to be some sort of a trading quarter, shut for the night - the merchant and craftsmen’ houses alight from within, the wide circular square only occupied with ghosts of covered-up desks and stalls, a fountain splattering in the middle. 

He glanced at Yusuf to gauge his reaction to their surroundings and found him looking delightfully puzzled by the ways of this new city. Nicolo didn’t know the length of his travels before they met, but judging by his gaze, he was never too far from the lands that were his home. Briefly, just for a fleeting moment, Nicolo wondered whether Nicaea was the furthest away. If so, it was comforting in a way Nicolo never thought to feel.

Their room in the inn wasn’t much different from those in the south or the ones Nicolo was used to in his travels through the continent - only the most essential amenities: two wooden beds across the way from each other, with rough straw-filled mattresses, and a basin in the corner. The biggest difference from their previous lodgings was a plain wooden cross nailed to the wall over the window. 

It reminded him… Nicolo reached for the leather string around his neck, pulling the cross off over his head and tucking it away in his pocket before falling backwards onto the nearest bed and rubbing his face. He felt the mattress shift as Yusuf sat next to him, always a comforting presence.

Nicolo wondered if he was relying on him too much, growing too attached - he couldn’t stand to be separated from Yusuf even in his sleep now, the realisation that came to him last night on the boat, when the only peaceful rest he got in days was in the other’s arms.

“Are you alright?” Yusuf asked. 

He reached out for Nicolo’s hands, taking them slowly off his face so he’d be able to look at him properly. As was Yusuf’s usual way, it was a general question, giving Nicolo the opening to react to whatever he liked.

“I suppose I should be the one asking you this,” Nicolo muttered, “But I reckon I’m being mistrustful again… I knew it shouldn’t be too hard to find that man if he came through here, but as with our luck in Cairo, it feels as if we’re succeeding too easily, and I can’t help but wait for the payback.”

Yusuf nodded in consideration. He moved in on the mattress, leaned his back against the wall. 

“You aren’t mistrustful,” he replied first, like it was important to emphasise, “We got a solid lead on our first day here, and as much as I want to think of that as a good sign, we cannot get comfortable yet.”

“Sometimes I wish we did as you suggested - went east,” Nicolo sighed in frustration, “Maybe we could’ve looked for those women, forgot about this for as long as we could... Maybe they’d never have found us.”

“We needed to tie this thing up,” Yusuf said. “We still do. Perhaps here is where we get the answers... And then we can go east, without a tail behind us.”

Nicolo nodded once, knowing the answer to his worries as it was the same in his own mind. 

It was growing late, the only light in the room from the nearly faded overcast sky outside the window. Yusuf was all but a familiar silhouette in this haze, and Nicolo wanted him to talk - about anything really, just to prove his presence. 

“You didn’t answer my question however,” he prompted softly, hoping to sound just as open and welcoming as his friend, “How are you faring in this strange new land?”

Yusuf let out a soft sound that could have been a laugh or just a breath of air, Nicolo wasn’t able to tell much in the darkness. 

“It is strange,” he agreed wholeheartedly, “But I suppose it is better than expected. Frankly, I’m just relieved no one tried to kill us today.”

Nicolo felt the smile tug at his lips, too big for the grim subject at hand.

“Just you wait,” he said, and as the words left him, so did the laughter, sharp and abrupt. It felt good to laugh at this, better than to be fearful…

Yusuf joined him in his humor. “Forgive me, but I am not entirely looking forward to being chased from another city.”

“We should enjoy it while it lasts then,” Nicolo managed, once his amusement let up, “It’s as you said though, sometimes impossible not to wish for the time to stop it’s flow…”

For just a moment, Nicolo thought he saw Yusuf tense, and then it was gone like it was never there to begin with. He wondered why it was, but Yusuf’s words sidetracked him. 

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, almost too soft, so that Nicolo had to strain to hear him.

“I thought so too,” he replied with all the gentleness he could put into the words - this felt fragile somehow, delicate, “But then I think I can’t help wishing to listen to what’s on your mind no matter if I’m awake or asleep.”

Yusuf chuckled, but it was in a way Nicolo didn’t like. It sounded almost... self-deprecating, so unlike Yusuf that Nicolo wanted to reach out.

“Trust me, you do not want to listen to what’s on my mind always.”

“Is this you deeming me a fickle companion?” He attempted for lightness of tone, hoping it would make Yusuf help him comprehend - he wouldn’t be bothered if that was it, but somehow he doubted as much.

“Hardly,” Yusuf replied, and Nicolo didn’t need to have enough light in the room to know he was looking at him with an incredulous look. “I only mean that some thoughts should stay just as that, before they are spoken prematurely and deal the damage that cannot be reversed.”

Without necessarily permitting the motion in his mind, his hand found Yusuf’s over the sheets, entwining their fingers in a motion that already felt impossibly familiar.

“I know you well enough to be sure that whatever’s on your mind would only make me care for you more. If it doesn’t then I’d know myself to be a fool, since yours is a mind full of kindness and passion, and grace, and none of those I would ever willingly reject. I need you to trust me on this, now more than ever before, as I’ve grown to rely on you a little too much to make it entirely fair, so I only hope you can rely on me the same. It is the single way I see to repay you, because I don’t think I can stop…”

There was something in the night, Nicolo supposed, that made conversations easier. Something that made words and actions flow freely and without thought, or perhaps that was just Yusuf’s way. Nicolo thought he heard his breath hitch sometime during his speech, but with as little light as they had he wasn’t able to tell for sure. 

Yusuf’s free hand came to rest on his shin, closer to his ankle, and he felt Yusuf exhale softly. 

“If only you knew how deeply I feel your words,” he muttered then, almost inaudible. “I trust and depend on you with my life, as with my soul and my mind... I cherish you more than I ever thought possible. Please believe me when I say that: Nicolo, you have nothing to repay me for. Whatever happened before, it is done and gone, and the only proof you would ever need for this is how I can hardly bear the thought of doing the smallest things separated from you, from breaking bread to sharing a joke or even sleeping at night.”

Nicolo felt the shiver in his own breath as it traveled from his chest - a murmur of the air. The happiness and relief grew on him slowly, drop by drop of his blood, inch by inch of his flesh - there was no hurry in the nights like this one, no room for harshness or haste.

“We don’t have to be separated,” He promised, still unsure whether it was honorable of him to pledge to the deeds that might be out of his control alone, but unable to help himself - unable to refuse Yusuf the comfort of hearing this, “We won’t let them take us from each other's hands, not in our waking hours and not in the nights. This space between us belongs to no one else, this is where I would have you for as long as we are in this world, and this is where I would stay.” 

“Nicolo,” Yusuf managed again, and then his voice broke and was lost in the muffled softness of the dark, as it enveloped them both.

Yusuf’s hands left the points where they were connected to his skin, and Nicolo felt the man shift along the wall, to rest by him. When he held Nicolo again - much the same as he did twice before, the way that made Nicolo feel as if their bodies were created to fit perfectly together, with no distance or distinction between the two parts of a whole - he thought Yusuf held him like a blade, like something with the power to damage and destroy him. Nicolo pressed himself closer still, securing Yusuf’s forearm to where it was fastened around his chest, making him breathe out sharply into the nape of Nicolo’s neck. He shivered again and Yusuf laughed without making a sound.

“Your mind is safe with me,” Nicolo whispered, a first prayer of his new faith.

Yusuf secured his arms even more at the sound of the words. 

“As is yours,” he vowed, “Mind, body and soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some 11th century detective work? XD Let us know what you think of Messina and the story so far! We live for your comments <3  
> ~A&K


	19. SHALLOWS

Yusuf

Messina, August 1098

  
  


Yusuf did not know what he had expected from a Catholic soon-to-be cathedral, but he supposed it wasn’t this. Only foundations had been built so far, just barely, and the site itself was nothing much to look at. Nicolo had explained that they wouldn’t go specifically to the site, but rather to the building right across from it - the priests’ quarters. 

Along the way, Yusuf had counted ten guards, all looking various ways of annoyed and anxious, in mismatched armor and not appearing to be much of a challenge should things go wrong.

Nicolo had said they should do this in the least violent way possible, and while Yusuf agreed wholeheartedly, he wasn’t able to calm his nerves and staying prepared for battle really shouldn’t be a bad thing, especially not with their run of luck.

Nevertheless, as they approached the building - a very plain one, similar to the architecture near the port - and Nicolo had led them inside of it - even planer, if that was possible, Yusuf thought maybe the priests were very adamant on making their living as simple as possible - some of his nerves came back, in the shape of lingering eyes and hushed whispers, ones that he knew were directed at him.

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking ahead to their destination - the big door at the end of the hallway, and could only hope Nicolo didn’t pay attention. Although by the way he tensed when a monk walked by them and looked a little too closely at Yusuf, he was able to tell that Nicolo knew exactly.

They barely talked, but Yusuf did manage to catch Nicolo’s gaze in an attempt to reassure him that all was well.

He didn’t know how they would be accepted by the priest in charge, but he assumed Nicolo would need his energy reserved. 

Just a moment before his friend raised his hand to knock on the door, Yusuf was able to take advantage of their somewhat private moment and said with the smallest of smiles, “It does not matter what he says - we are here for a purpose. Don’t let it discourage you from it.”

Nicolo didn’t look convinced with his words.

“It matters very much,” he argued, “I only hope he realises it as well,” and before Yusuf could respond, wrapped his knuckles sharply against the hardwood.

“About time,” sounded the response from within, irritable and loud enough to travel through the small hall they were in, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Yusuf watched Nicolo close his eyes and take a deep steadying breath, risking in response to rest a hand on the small of his back, until his companion yanked the door resolutely open. 

The Reverend Father Lenuzo of Messina - as Nicolo informed Yusuf was his full title - didn’t look like much. He was a meek, pallid man with saggy cheeks and wispy white hair, and his visible irritation quickly changed to suspicion and wariness as he took in the two of them.

The room itself was such a contrast from the outside, that Yusuf had to double check to see they were still in the same building. He made a mental note to ask Nicolo later, when they were in the comfort of their inn room, why did the Reverend Father have the luxury of owning in his room more than the rest had in the entire housing.

It still wasn’t much, but it was enough to stand out; a desk with a high and comfortable looking chair on which the man sat, a small table and stools with vibrantly upholstered seats in the corner, and a rug to frame the room. On the other side, a bookcase with books in some unknown language according to the spines, and a door to what Yusuf was only able to conclude was Lenuzo’s personal chambers.

“Who are you?” The man demanded, “What is your business with me?”

“Reverend Father,” Nicolo addressed politely, but by the look in his eyes Yusuf could tell, without much expectation, “We have heard of your efforts to build a Cathedral in this city and came to offer aid for your efforts. The word of mouth has it that you are looking for capable men to guard the process.”

Yususf watched Lenuzo relax, his face reverting back to the expression of vague irritation as he slumped back in his chair.

“Yes, yes, you greedy bastards,” he muttered dismissively, “I’ve got more than enough fools standing around looking full of themselves. I must admit though, this is the first time a pagan dared to show his face in this house of our Lord.”

Yusuf snorted. “Seems ill advised to turn down any help whatsoever, especially when your current guards look so... incapable.”

Reverend Father’s scowl deepened.

“We have the one and only true God watching over us,” he snapped, “Is any mortal man a match for that?”

Yusuf couldn’t help the twitch lifting up the corner of his mouth, and as he looked at Nicolo, the man was sharing his amusement. 

“Truly?” Yusuf pondered, and he might have looked quite intrigued with how the man regarded him. “Would your god be able to come down and fight on your behalf, or is it just what you sell to your believers?”

“Is this the company good Christians keep around these parts?” This he addressed to Nicolo, raising an accusatory finger that made Yusuf’s humour fade a degree or two, “If so we’re in a more desperate need of the Lord’s guidance than I could’ve thought!”

“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On this hang the law and the prophets, Reverend Father,” Nicolo responded pointedly, his lips in a tight line, “Or have you forgotten the words you are to preach to the good Christians around these parts?”

Lenuzo sucked in a sharp breath and rose with some effort from his desk, taking a step closer to the two of them, his eyes narrowed on Nicolo.

“Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world,” He responded, his tone somewhat too petty to quote what Yusuf assumed to be the words of their faith.

It made him sigh, the realisation that this might be a bigger task than they initially thought sinking in, and in hindsight he knew he shouldn’t have said it, but it also made little sense to beat around the bush any longer, and the more he looked at the two of them with such contempt the harder it was for Yusuf to keep a causal face. 

Nicolo must have known that too, by now.

Either way, Yusuf got to say his mind. “I suppose those are the words of your friend with the scars, Reverend Father.”

Lenuzo flattered, his pointing finger freezing in the air before his hand lowered altogether seemingly of its own, and he took an uncertain step back, his expression once again hollow with shock.

“Is this what it’s about?” He muttered venomously, “Did he send you to rob me even more? You’ll be disappointed - I don’t have much left to give!”

Nicolo shot Yusuf a look the same time his own head turned. 

The well-wisher was indeed there, and it was a relief more than anything. He had come to expect their luck to turn, considered perhaps things have been going too smoothly... But this was a great progress at unraveling this ordeal.

“You have quite a lot more to give,” Yusuf said before Nicolo had the chance to change his mind or reply himself. “Information, oftentimes, is more valuable than money.”

Revered Father looked between them - a petulant man perhaps, but not entirely obtuse - and chuckled.

“Information,” he muttered, “Why are you looking for that man? Who sent you?”

“You’ll sleep better at night if you don’t have the answer to that question, Father,” Nicolo replied quietly, the same undemanding self-sufficient sort of power entering his voice, that made itself known very rarely, and yet was impossible to deny.

“You think me unbefitting of my role, don’t you?” Lenuzo asked him, a derisive smile twisting his mouth, his eyes full of contempt.

“I would say disgraceful,” Nicolo replied just as calmly as before. 

Yusuf thought fleetingly, that anyone with the heart to reject Nicolo clearly was insane. There was such unconditional sincerity in his voice, such a way to lead people to see, to hear, that Yusuf assumed it would challenge even the most closed off mind. He no longer thought that Nicolo wanted to take advantage of this gift - no longer afraid of being left for a better purpose - and this made Yusuf able to bask in that presence, to enjoy witnessing it firsthand, he supposed. 

Yusuf crossed his arms, his eyes darting between Lenuzo and Nicolo. 

If the Revered Father knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t question Nicolo’s claim, but Yusuf seriously doubted that…

“Well, unfortunately for you an opinion of a common man holds no sway over those who walk in the name of the Lord,” Lenuso scoffed, stepping back and around his desk, to take his previous seat in a clearly dismissive display. 

“Common man?” Yusuf questioned, highly unimpressed, “He is no common man, and he walked in a better path than you, that is cert-”

“So be it,” Nicolo interrupted him, turning and resting a soothing hand on Yusuf’s elbow, “But wisdom is found in those who take advice, so heed to mine - a man who lives in pride and bitterness calls upon himself no graces.”

“I need no graces from the likes of you,” Reverend Father called after them, even as Nicolo shook his head and pulled Yusuf along, out of the room and out of the building, into a lively Messina street.

“You don’t need to suffer ignorance from people like him,” Yusuf said the moment they put some distance between themselves and the construction site. He felt it was important enough to stop them just for a moment as he collected himself from his protectiveness.

Nicolo seemed agitated for another moment, a deep crease between his brows and a hard set of his jaw, and then he let out a breath and with it, his tension eased somewhat. 

“His ignorance doesn’t bother me,” he shook his head, “Although I have grown unused to rejection of reason, especially from the men who hold power over those who are bound to believe and listen to them.” 

It seemed odd - if Yusuf had to put a name to it - that someone coming from the same faith as Nicolo was not susceptible to their own reasoning. Perhaps it was just different here, even if the rejection simply did not make sense. Yusuf had seen people of different religions working together in the city in their short time there, and he didn’t see why it should matter to the Reverend Father... 

“I don’t understand,” Yusuf admitted out loud. “Was it me? Was it because you challenged him?” He paused for a moment, the thought of the well-wisher coming to mind. “Did he know who we were, perhaps?”

Nicolo blinked, his frown returning, although it was different this time, helpless somehow. He looked over his shoulder, noting the passers by in the distance minding their own, and reached out for Yusuf’s wrist.

“Your being there had nothing to do with that man’s bigotry and self importance,” he offered softly, “And I don’t think he had much knowledge of our nature either. He would’ve been and surely remains a narrow-minded hypocrite, using the faith for gain and power, as so many like him do. As for my challenging him, it wasn’t very farsighted, I admit, but there may be other ways to approach him...”

Yusuf's smile was an involuntary thing of its own making, an instinctive reaction to the gesture as he looked down on Nicolo’s hand around his wrist. It felt natural to just turn his own hand and intertwine his fingers with the man’s, and as he did he raised his head to gaze at Nicolo, hoping to reflect his warmth. 

“I can see an idea in your mind, Nicolo. Would you be so kind as to share?”

“They say God is always watching,” he smiled almost imperceptibly, his eyes alight as they took in Yusuf’s response, “Well, maybe he’s not the only one.”

_

  
  


Yusuf often replayed Nicolo’s words over the next few days, as part-prayer and part objective. They had been spending most of their days at a vantage point not too far from the cathedral’s construction site, but not so close as to raise suspicion on how they were there every single day.

They blended well, Yusuf was happy to know that no one seemed to give them a second glance. 

The Reverend Father Lenuzo of Messina had a busy work schedule, it seemed - from meetings with city officials to checking the guards and the site, and Nicolo and Yusuf were out scrutinising at every step he took. 

It had been a few days before they discovered his favourite pastime over dinner was inside a very dull looking building. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary, but Nicolo had pointed out - his lookout being from above as they split to gather more information - a single entrance to the building had been from the street, locked and inconspicuous. Yusuf had later learned it had a barred back door on one of the side streets, but he never saw anyone using it. The women that mostly came and went during the day and men who arrived in the evenings never appeared purposeful in any way. 

The Reverend Father had been there for a few hours every other evening, never missing the chance, and it took another two days for them to find the reason for his visits 

To avoid suspicion over the two of them being around, they agreed early on to regroup at their own room after Lenuzo retired for the night. This night, Yusuf was unable to hold his excitement over the matter and started talking the moment Nicolo closed the door behind them. 

“It’s a brothel,” he had explained eagerly, only stopping to repeat the word in Greek as they had never needed to use it in either Italian or Arabic. 

He waited for Nicolo to repeat the word in Italian, and continued. 

“There was a servant there who delivered a message for his master... He did not use the word, but he seemed very adamant on how the place worked.”

Nicolo seemed almost disappointed by this. Admittedly, he took the news in stride, but he’s been more distressed over the next few days of their watch even than before, keeping a closer look than Yusuf - satisfied with having found out as much already. It was he who noted a woman who ran out the door after Lenuzo following one of his visits, covered with a cloak hiding from view her face, but not the long cornsilk hair. She put a hand on his shoulder as she caught up to make him turn, and when he did, his face looked almost as white as his hair. The woman handed him a book and he tore it from her fingers in anger before walking away a tad too hastily for a man of his age, looking over his shoulder all along.

It took them another couple of days to pinpoint the woman among those who left during the day and track her to the merchants’ quarter. The market square was fascinating to Yusuf - with craftsmen working on their produce just as they were selling it, the sounds of blacksmiths hammers and worrying of livestock mixed in with an occasional melody played on a lute.

“We can’t scare her off,” Yusuf said as they watched the woman walk into one of the shops - an apothecary, Nicolo informed him. He knew Nicolo was with him on that, but some things were best spoken, for both of their sakes. “Though I will be honest, I’m a bit unsure as to how well this would go...”

“I don’t suppose she would be more opposed to talking to us than the Reverend Father himself,” Nicolo mused, his restlessness so subtle Yusuf doubted anyone other than himself would’ve noticed anything at all, “Although I am afraid that we might cause her more stress than she deserves, what with her being more vulnerable than anyone in all this…” 

Yusuf placed his hand on the small of Nicolo’s back, hoping his touch would be grounding enough to focus him on their objective. They had barely slept the past week, too preoccupied and busy with scheduling and dotting down every single part of their plan. 

They couldn’t afford to make mistakes. 

“We need to find a way to make the situation as painless as possible. Perhaps some way to reassure her we mean no harm...” Yusuf thought aloud now, knowing they needed to make a decision quickly.

“Maybe we should just risk it and approach her here,” Nicolo shook his head, clearly unhappy with his own idea, “With people around perhaps she would feel less threatened?”

Yusuf considered their options; they were both armed, as they had no way to go around the city without means to defend themselves should there be a need, and he supposed it was either this or at a more secluded place, that might cause the woman more alarm than needed.

“I guess there is only one way to find out,” Yusuf said eventually, tilting his head in the direction of the apothecary, where the woman was just headed out of.

They met her in one of the lanes of the market, stopping a few paces ahead of her way and watching her freeze even as she kept her head down low, a hood hiding most of her features, as if sensing the danger. She looked up slowly, but seemingly unable to help it, revealing a not too young, but nonetheless youthful face, eyes wide and hazel, and expression resigned. 

“Did he send you?” She asked in Italian with an accent so thick Yusuf barely understood the question.

Still, he offered her an apologetic smile, not needing to look at Nicolo to know he was probably doing the same thing. It was a hopeful thing, really, a gesture to the woman who seemed far too intimidated to even consider it.

“I don’t know who  _ he _ is, but we are here of our own accord,” Yusuf said. “Not here to harm you in any way, I assure you.”

“What do you want then?” She asked, still suspicious, her eyes darting about, taking in the people walking by.

“To talk about an acquaintance of both yours and ours,” Nicolo answered quietly, “A corrupt man, to whom our meeting would be very unfavorable, and yet who’s gotten too comfortable with his seat of power. A man who’s done wrong.”

Yusuf watched the woman’s expression change, morph into something akin to aversion.

“All men do wrong,” she spat sharply, “As all men are corrupt.”

“Some do,” Yusuf hurried to correct her as gently as possible, “Some do, you are right. But some just try and yes, sometimes they make mistakes, but they still look for a way to make the world better, to make it shine brighter and to make right to every wrong ever to happen...” He looked briefly at Nicolo, and then at the woman before them. “Please, help us be the other kind.”

Her expression didn’t change really, so the next words from her mouth took Yusuf aback.

“You need help?” she wondered.

Nicolo nodded, and looked regretful about it.

“Our lives depend on it,” he said carefully, “And so do the lives of the innocents made to pay the price for the crimes they aren’t guilty of.”

“My name is Halene,” the woman nodded, as if this little display of trust was reply enough.

“Yusuf,” he introduced himself, putting one hand against his chest in indication, and after Nicolo did the same, he gave the woman one more smile. 

It seemed to ease her somewhat, and so he continued. 

“Perhaps we can go somewhere to talk? A place of your choosing, of course.” His tone, he hoped, was the embodiment of every good intention he had.

“I don’t have much time,” Halene replied, looking around nervously again, “But come.”

She jerked her chin to the side, put her hood over her head once more and made her way through the square, manoeuvring between people unnoticed. The way she’s done it made Yusuf wonder whether she grew up on the streets, if maybe the streets far away from there…

Halene led them away from the newer parts of the city and into the tightly packed poorer neighbourhoods, the paving stones beneath their feet becoming dirt, and then all of a sudden a fine light-coloured mosaic. She turned behind another corner and suddenly in the middle of a courtyard pale tall columns appeared, some more damaged than the others, cracked and shattered, whatever ceiling they might’ve been holding up nowhere to be found. The craftsmanship was impossible to deny however - every surviving rib was perfect, not to mention the capitals. 

Yusuf watched Nicolo step closer in awe, his fingers coming up to brush the marble, and wished he had the time to get his sketchbook and coal; it’s been days since he had the chance to draw...

Halene turned to look at them with a gaze that clearly meant an initiative for them to speak. Yusuf exchanged one glance with Nicolo that had them agreeing on honesty and straightforwardness, and opened his mouth. 

“You know the Reverend Father,” he said as a matter of fact, trying to gauge her reaction before elaborating. 

Her face twisted in the same way as it did before, and something in Yusuf’s heart moved in wanting to comfort her. He did not know her, never knew anyone of the same fate, but everything he wanted in that moment was to help her. 

He needed to speak to Nicolo about it, later. 

“We are not his followers and do not endorse him in any way,” Yusuf said. “But we need some information from him, and he chose not to see our way. We thought, perhaps...” 

Halene huffed. “You need me for leverage,” she supplied.

“Despite his age, Father Lenuzo is a petulant child intoxicated with what little power he managed to covet in his years,” Nicolo muttered dejectedly, as if all their days of observing and all but living the life of the man in question suddenly caught up to him, “As I am sure you are aware of. I have seen men such as him and I have seen what happens when they are allowed to roam unchecked. They don’t stop, they don’t listen, they don’t have kindness for anyone but themselves and their own wishes. What we’re asking of you is to help keep him in check.”

Halene gave Nicolo a look that was complete solace. She seemed to contemplate what he said for a few moments, before she nodded in understanding. 

“You are different, I suppose...” she said, mostly to herself.

“You know his secrets,” Yusuf interjected. 

She gave another nod, but looked otherwise hesitant to say any more.

“We would like to help you, if in any way we can,” Nicolo implored, “Your bravery would not go unrewarded.”

“I am not sure you can,” she said, voice in check as if she was forcing it to be this way. Then she looked ahead at them again, something like conviction on her face, “He plans on taking me away... I do not know where, or how, but he had bragged about a house being built. I can find out more, perhaps, be more... susceptible to his words.”

“A house being built?” Nicolo blinked, his voice quiet and somewhat too urgent for how casual the news sounded to Yusuf, “That’s… That couldn’t be done without a trace and there is no way he could get money for such an endeavour without siphoning funds from the church. If we could only find proof…”

Nicolo turned to him, eyes wide and face hopeful for the first time in days.

“His chambers!” Halene said there, as if the idea just formed in her head. “He keeps his private documents there...” she trailed off, looking like she waited for the information to prove her uselessness now. 

“If we find proof of Lenuzo’s wrongdoing,” Yusuf spoke to Nicolo instead, “Halene’s life would be in danger... As she would be the first suspect.”

Nicolo only nodded, thought for a minute, glanced at Yusuf and finally turned to the woman.

“What would you wish for?” He asked, “If you were free to choose your own destiny, what would you do?”

Yusuf thought, looking at Halene in that moment, that much like Nicolo himself when Yusuf faced him with a similar question, she looked as if no one had asked her anything like it before. He saw in his friend’s eyes that he noticed the resemblance as well, and as Nicolo’s breathing sped up, rested a hand discreetly on his shoulder, looking to ease his worry.

Halene’s eyes grew big for just a moment, as she no doubt counted her options, perhaps thinking of her talents and how she could apply them. In the end, the only thing that came out of her lips was almost a silent plea. 

“I would live free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes spying and detective-ing? XD Hope you like the chapter and Halene, 'cause we can't not love our OCs, so let us know in the comments ;)  
> ~A&K


	20. CLOSENESS

Nicolo

Messina, August 1098

  
  


He loved watching Yusuf sleep...

Nicolo’s own slumber was too light, especially as the sunrise grew near - a habit from their travels through the wilderness perhaps… Now, in the city, it were the sounds of humanity that stirred him awake long before Yusuf began to waken, leaving him to turn cautiously over to face the man. 

Yusuf didn’t risk praying how he usually did when they were on the ship from Alexandria to Messina, and in a strange lingering way Nicolo missed the duty of keeping track of their routines before the day began in that one way, so he was glad to be back to it now that they had the relative safety of walls around them. It made him feel party to Yusuf’s world, to his reality by being the one who met him first every day, before he would even meet his god. 

Perhaps it was hubris talking…

After all, when Yusuf opened his eyes every morning it was still Nicolo’s face he saw first. It usually made him smile as if in relief… Now though, he was still deep under, his chest rising and falling steady, his eyes moving a little behind the eyelids, making Nicolo wish there was a way to share his dreams. This seemed to be a peaceful one, making Yusuf’s expression serene, the lines on his forehead merely ghosts of their daily worries.

Nicolo raised his hand very carefully, and traced those lines with his fingertips before letting his palm rest against the back of Yusuf’s neck. 

Yusuf muttered something, too aimless to be a word and too low to be a sound really, but it made Nicolo smile. He loved watching Yusuf sleep, even though it felt as something secret and intimate, or perhaps for those very reasons. 

Perhaps Yusuf thought Nicolo was able to understand what he said in his sleep haze, because he raised his own hand from where it was circling Nicolo’s ribs to hold the hand on his neck in place. His eyes were still closed, but he had a lazy smile on his face, and Nicolo knew he was fighting against being awake right now.

It made his heart warm when he acknowledged how Yusuf wanted to bask in the moment just as much as he did.

“It’s still dark,” Yusuf muttered, or at least that’s what Nicolo gathered from the string of barely-coherent sounds distantly reminiscent of Yusuf’s mother tongue. He nuzzled against Nicolo’s shoulder, using his body as shield from the soft haze of light that forewarned the start of the day. “Go back to sleep,” he said, this coming out even more muffled.

“With everyone in the city up and making all this ruckus,” Nicolo whispered back in the stillness barely interrupted by distant noises of the streets coming to life, “And besides, the sunrise is near, you’ll have to get up to pray soon anyway.”

Nicolo felt the grin rearranging Yusuf’s face rather than seeing it, and was ready to be teased, but apparently Yusuf’s state of awareness did not reach that stage just yet. 

He simply hummed where his head was, not bothering to look up as he said, “Yes, sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had, Nicolo.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he laughed softly in response, unable to help it, the motion rocking them both, “Your eloquence clearly isn’t up to par yet, or shall I assume the real Yusuf had been stolen and replaced in the night?”

Yusuf gasped in faux-hurt, though he betrayed it soon after with a hearty laugh of his own.

He took advantage of Nicolo’s momentarily lack of attention to use his other hand to poke at Nicolo’s ribs, just enough to have him twist his body away. 

“I may not have my words at this ungodly hour, but you cannot underestimate me like that.”

Instinctively Nicolo caught his palm and pinned it to the sheets between them, chuckling the sudden shock to his system away. With this added breath of distance he took in Yusuf’s face, the smile made for putting songs into the hearts of the damned, wide and unguarded - this room, this bed - their own private corner of Messina, of the Universe. 

“If memory serves me, the last time we called it a draw,” Nicolo considered, a little amused and very fond.

Yusuf gave him one more laugh before he sighed deeply. 

“It was simply due to your loss, and me being the humble man that I am, trying to spare you the humiliation of admitting defeat,” with each word, Yusuf’s coherence came back, and he was slowly but surely awakening in full.

“What a hurtful thing to hear first thing in the morning,” he nudged the man, it being Nicolo’s turn to feign affront, “And there I was thinking you cared for my poor heart!”

Nicolo’s sentence had an immediate effect, both in action and in words. Yusuf had rolled over to his back, his forearm covering his eyes as a futile attempt to keep away the day. 

“As if you don’t know what’s in my own poor heart,” he said softly, his Arabic almost fully understandable at this point. “We shall settle that some other time, though.” 

Nicolo did not know if he meant their competition or his initial response, and the sudden shift in the atmosphere made him hesitate as he propped himself up on one elbow, watching Yusuf for a minute. He wondered if it was alright for him to do as Yusuf once did, and take his arm away from his face. Nicolo needed to see him too much to let his doubts take over though, needed to understand what he’s done wrong.

He ran his fingers along Yusuf’s arm gently, resting them on his wrist - asking rather than forcing.

Yusuf’s mouth reacted first, his lips parting, and then his arm finally lowered, revealing him squinting up at Nicolo’s face, expression unresolved somehow, as it was sometimes - as if he was waiting for something that Nicolo would’ve surely given if only he had an inkling as to what it might be…

“We have time,” Nicolo whispered in Arabic, unsure himself whether he meant that they could discuss this right away or that Yusuf could take as long as he needed to speak his mind. 

Yusuf held his hand, still on his forearm, and then moved it to Nicolo’s cheek, as a barely there contact and yet still with so many different meanings that Nicolo had a hard time trying to compile them into a single consistent thought. 

“I am not in any hurry,” he replied in Italian combined with a tender smile.

_

  
  


Their plan had been a rather straightforward one, although Nicolo was still apprehensive about Halene returning to that place and Lenuzo even if for the last time. They depended on her to keep him away from his quarters though, and as she was quick to point out - there was no better way to ensure as much.

In the afternoon, once their preparations were taken care of, Nicolo and Yusuf returned to their first vantage point, overlooking the Cathedral construction site and the clergy living quarters across from it. 

“Taranto would not be as welcoming,” Nicolo mused out loud, watching the people mingling freely in the streets, “Prince Bohemond’s reinforcements would be stationed in the city and I’d rather not linger for too long. We’ll be tempting fate as it is…”

Yusuf simply hummed in response, his gaze on the street below them as well. They have had a similar conversation to this after Halene asked to go to Taranto, and Yusuf had reassured him it would be alright, as long as they were together.

“We will not overstay our welcome,” Yusuf said. “If it would seem safe enough, we would stay there for the night before continuing, and if not... It’s bedrolls and hard ground again.” He turned to look at Nicolo, grinning.

Nicolo couldn’t help but respond with a chuckle at Yusuf’s unwavering enthusiasm. 

It took awhile before Reverend Father finally left the building and hurried away, looking over his shoulder a time or two, and Nicolo found himself impossibly relieved to be doing this particular chore for the last time. They didn’t delay, and in the falling dusk it was as easy as before to enter the cool interior of the monks’ dwelling unseen. Avoiding being noticed within presented a somewhat bigger challenge, but between the dim lighting in the halls and the godly men being few and unaware, they managed. 

It wasn’t until they crossed Lenuzo’s suite and reached the door to his private chambers that the first challenge made itself known. Nicolo tried the door and found it locked. It looked a little too decorative to be particularly sturdy, but it wouldn’t do well to cause ruckus. 

Yusuf went to stand next to Nicolo, holding his hand to his forearm to move him slightly out of the way. 

“Watch the door,” he said, gesturing to the only entrance to the room they were currently in. 

Nicolo watched him as he kneeled in front and narrowed his eyes at the keyhole.

“I’m not sure you can talk your way in this time,” Nicolo whispered, perplexed. 

“I am not about to flirt with a door knob, Nicolo,” Yusuf looked behind his shoulder to find that he still hadn't moved. 

“Watch the door,” he said again, this time with slight amusement. “I know how to pick a lock, so unless you have a better idea...” he trailed off, waiting for Nicolo to put his back to the entrance, and started fiddling with the lock. 

Nicolo wasn’t able to see what he was doing, as Yusuf’s broad back was obstructing his view, but it didn’t take long. Within seconds it opened with a quiet click, and Yusuf ushered him inside, closing the door behind the two of them.

“And you know how it’s done because,” Nicolo prompted, unable to help his fascination. 

It seemed that no matter how long he knew Yusuf or how much time they spent together, there was always something to catch Nicolo unaware - whether it were his words or actions, or skills. 

“I’m a man of many talents,” Yusuf had the audacity to say, and not comment much more than that. 

He turned to look at Nicolo again, with another far too excited grin, and just as Nicolo was about to question his sanity, Yusuf tilted his head slightly and winked at him.

Nicolo had to clear his throat as he moved to follow the man through the room, having to remind himself that they were too short on time to allow distractions. The interior of Lenuzo’s bedchamber helped clear his mind somewhat - they had obviously underestimated the man’s love for luxury. 

The main part of the small space was occupied with a tall four-poster bed covered with velvet, a plain cross nailed over it - nearly a taunt, but there was also an escritoire in the corner and a wardrobe to one of the walls. Nicolo moved to the letter, while Yusuf took on the former. It was a few minutes of rummaging through ceremonial robes and night shifts, and jewelry that was entirely too expensive, before he looked to his friend. 

“Nothing,” Yusuf huffed in frustration. “I mean, it’s flashy, but there’s nothing here.”

Nicolo ran his hand through his hair trying to think fast. Men such as the Reverend Father were hypocrites, but not at the expense of self-preservation - they were aware of their wrong-doing to an extent enough to hide the proofs as well as they could… And paranoia among clergy had always been running wild.

Nicolo gestured to Yusuf to give him room, and bent over the escritoire - a small deskspace, barely enough to write a letter under candle light, but drawers upon drawers of parchment and ink bottles, and quills, and ornate seals. Nicolo began running his fingers over the bottom and the sides of them, trying to feel for anything out of the ordinary, any trace of a hidden compartment - a discrepancy in depth, a loose panel - anything. 

“What are you doing?” Yusuf asked, giving him an expectant look before gazing across the room, most likely looking for some secret place they haven’t looked in.

“Well,” Nicolo muttered, distracted, and let out a breath as something under his touch clicked at last, releasing a narrow tray that connected to the desktop, “You aren’t the only one who’s full of surprises.”

Yusuf’s eyebrows indeed climbed up to his forehead in awe, and Nicolo was happy to note that he had left him speechless, and in a good way this time.

Once the shock faded, though, Yusuf was back to his old self and moved around the desk to look over Nicolo’s shoulder to see what he was doing. If the action placed Yusuf closer than necessary, Nicolo did not think to say anything about it. 

“Well, tell me then - what have you hidden in your desks in the past that you know how to do this?”

Nicolo flipped through the pages upon pages of letters, some faded and some new - blueprints, accounting, correspondence - it was all there…

“Never owned one, actually,” he answered, with a wistful edge of nostalgia, “But I was particularly fond of raiding my father’s as a boy, before I even knew how to read - just loved the puzzle… He caught me in the end and began locking his study soon after that.” 

Yusuf chuckled absently, and Nicolo wondered if he thought of the moment Nicolo was referring to, even without being there. 

“You needed to have someone like me back then to pick locks for you,” Yusuf had said, and it sounded so casual that Nicolo did not know what to make of it.

He tried to picture Yusuf as a child - bright, free, nose in his sketchbook when he wasn’t running around causing mischief, a loving mother and a flock of siblings… And Nicolo had been so isolated back then, his sisters being raised and taught so differently that he barely saw them even living in the same house; yes, he did need someone like Yusuf back then, for more things than picking locks. Although, that wasn’t right either, he supposed - it wasn’t that he needed just someone, it was that he needed Yusuf - no one else, he just didn’t know it for the longest time… 

“I wish I did,” he answered quietly, “But I suppose I could do with a tale or two when we have more time, since there’s no fixing past.”

Yusuf nodded, his expression far softer than Nicolo thought was warranted, and perhaps they were just connected enough for Yusuf to know exactly what was on his mind to react in such a way.

“Just a tale or two?” Yusuf grinned. “Well, alright, if you insist. Now, would you share your findings?”

“It’s all there,” Nicolo scrambled to answer, collecting the papers and doing his best to return everything else to exactly how it was prior to their visit, “We should go.”

It was perhaps due to their distraction or haste, or maybe the victory turning their heads, but they have been too careless on their way out. They made it as far as leaving Lenuzo’s quarters when a monk rounded a corner and came face to face with them. Nicolo remembered him - he was the one who gave Yusuf a look that made Nicolo’s temper flare, as rarely as it did.

“You,” the monk mouthed, his voice nonexistent and then entirely too loud, “I- I knew you were up to no good! What are you doing here?”

Nicolo sighed, shot Yusuf a quick apologetic glance, took two steps that separated them from the man, and elbowed him in the face with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary to knock him unconscious.

Yusuf looked at him, seeming equally impressed and curious, and perhaps just slightly amused.

“Well, that was a bit harsh,” he commented with a small smile.

“I’d say it was just right,” Nicolo replied tightly, and touched Yusuf’s shoulder to both settle himself and urge him along.

Yusuf showed no problem with being led, and only once they left the building, he managed to reply to Nicolo’s earlier statement. 

All humor forgotten, Yusuf looked at him with intent, “What was that about?”

Nicolo winced, losing a breath just to give himself some time to think. Yusuf always spoke so highly of him - thought so highly of him, this felt like a shameful failure of temper. Still, he didn’t want to be dishonest, not ever with Yusuf…

“It seems no matter how hard I try, sometimes it is impossible not to hold grudges,” Nicolo admitted at last, “Especially when they trespass against the only person whose feelings matter the most to me.”

The words felt clumsy, inept, even as he kept his eyes on the way ahead of them. 

He felt Yusuf walk closer to him, their sides touching with every step, and then Yusuf’s hand at the small of his back - a grounding touch again, forever alleviating Nicolo’s tension.

“Ignorance and bigotry will always be, I’m afraid,” Yusuf said, slow and steady, like the progression of night around them. “Some would never understand, some would try and fail, and some would want and succeed... It’s our job to show them that they’re wrong, but if they wish to not see past their own mind - we must not waste time on them, as I’d much rather spend it sharing a laugh than thinking of undeserving fools.”

“I didn’t realize it was either one or the other,” Nicolo chuckled, relieved that Yusuf didn’t seem to think less of him.

“Well, not one or the other,” Yusuf smiled and put more pressure on the hand still on Nicolo’s back, as if to emphasise the point. “Wouldn’t you agree that there are better ways to spend however long we have than on the people who would not change no matter what we do?”

Nicolo thought about it, the question catching him off guard so much, that all his previous anxieties were simply no more.

“I think there’s always potential for change,” he said, plainly yet with sudden assuredness, “I think nobody is really hopeless, that for everyone exists something that can make them realise the wrong in their ways. Most people are just not as lucky to find it as some…”

Nicolo thought about how lucky he was, how impossibly, unlikely fortunate to find that one thing - that one person, who had such power over him.

Yusuf thought about it for a moment longer, their inn already in sight. 

“You are right, of course... But some people only see what’s right in front of them, they do not bother searching beyond, and we must know that, and learn to live with it.” He paused for a moment, before a small smile crept into his expression. “I suppose correcting them would be rewarding, just for the looks on their faces.”

“As long as we get to do some good,” Nicolo nodded, “I suppose we can choose our battles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're back to our usual programming of cute pillow-talk, angst and showing off XD Hope you're still enjoying the story, but be sure to let us know, your comments give us life <3  
> ~A&K


	21. LOST

Yusuf

Messina, September 1098

  
  


Yusuf considered himself to be a man of many talents, but he was also an honest one, and he knew a light sleeper was just not who he was - in his years of solitary traveling he had to come up with numerous tricks and safeguards to protect himself even when deeply under. Still, he wasn’t as good at keeping one eye open as he would’ve wished. 

Especially not, when he was able to have Nicolo’s body pressed against him for every night in the past couple of weeks - nearly since that fateful night outside Cairo - which he still preferred not to think too deeply about. That of course did not mean he wasn’t able to reflect on its significance and how it was the last step it took for Yusuf to realise the true magnitude of his need for company, or perhaps just the visceral fear of being left alone. He knew, when he was awake enough to properly process it, that sometime in the last few months, he had to forgo the will to travel on his own altogether, and instead grew to share his life with somebody else.

Not just anybody else - his heart would chant whenever he thought about it… Just the one - just the only person with the capacity to make himself as essential to Yusuf’s every deed and every breath as effortlessly. No one else.

Perhaps that was why, when he felt the warmth Nicolo provided leaving his proximity in their last night in Messina, he was able to regain consciousness faster than usual. He reached out blindly, unhappy to be aware of two things at once: the first - that Nicolo was trying to get away from the comfort of their embrace, and the second - that it was still night. 

His hand twisted in Nicolo’s shirt, forcing the man to remain where he was. 

“It’s still dark,” he mumbled. “Come back to bed.”

It was plausible that Nicolo simply had to relieve himself, or that he was thirsty, or any other reason that would be completely acceptable to make him leave Yusuf’s arms in the middle of the night, but he cared little about explanations and more about how he was suddenly very cold.

“Go back to sleep,” Nicolo breathed, sounding discouragingly awake, “I’ll just go get some air.”

He put his hand over Yusuf’s fistfull of his clothes and brushed the back of it with his thumb, very gently, but also somewhat pointedly. Usually, it would take more to wake Yusuf, but something about the tone Nicolo had used or the gesture itself seemed so off that like a spark, Yusuf was wide awake. 

“What happened?” He asked, moving his fingers to entwine with Nicolo’s instead, locking them together in this new and softer way. 

Yusuf tried not to push him most of the time, but this felt like something different was on his mind, and Yusuf could barely stomach the thought of Nicolo not confiding in him, not to mention the idea of the man outside, out on the dark streets without him.

Nicolo leaned back into his side for a second.

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head, sounding frustrated and unsure, “Just restlessness… I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you by tossing and turning all night, so I thought I’d try to walk it off.”

“Let me get my shoes and I will come with you?” Yusuf suggested before his mind was able to evaluate the idea too thoroughly. 

His body was evidently on the same page as he moved already halfway out of bed, a look from Nicolo freezing him in place if maybe for a blink - something in between a smile and confusion so profound it was all but making him speechless.

“You really don’t have to,” he started, sounding not entirely in charge of the words, “It’s not as if anything inevitable would happen to me - and I really wasn’t going to pull you out of bed - we’ll need our strengths tomorrow…”

Yusuf hesitated just once before he got up to join Nicolo as he was standing. He came to the realisation that if Nicolo really wanted his space, he would ask for it. 

“Since when is this about having to?” Yusuf carefully asked, though he really did not care for an answer. “We will find time to rest, so you do not need to be alone when I am here and able to help.”

Nicolo looked at him for another long moment, his expression indecipherable, but not in a bad way, Yusuf didn’t think… There was a certain softness to his eyes, a certain curve to his lips.

“And there I thought it would be a miserable night,” he muttered.

In between putting one shoe on and the next, Yusuf paused to glance up at Nicolo again, humming thoughtfully - Nicolo’s words bringing the image of him alone in the cold darkness of the night back to the forefront of Yusuf’s mind, making him frown. 

“Tell me the cause for your restlessness, please?” He said as he stood by the door, watching his companion’s reaction.

Nicolo became distant, somber in a way Yusuf didn’t appreciate - the man so rarely went where Yusuf couldn’t follow anymore, where he seemed entirely lost and unreachable, that it made him feel immediately desolate. This time however he knew to allow Nicolo the time to answer, even with his own discontent growing by the minute. It wasn’t until they made their way onto the empty Messina streets, that he had found his voice at last. 

“I’ve been thinking that tomorrow we might finally know,” was all Nicolo managed.

Yusuf tried to pinpoint exactly what the statement entailed. He had been thinking about their conversation with the Reverend Father tomorrow just before falling asleep, it was near impossible not to. It could go wrong in so many different ways, but Yusuf did not think that was what troubled Nicolo, right now.

As always, the best course of action between the two of them was to ask and listen, not in a demanding way, but rather in the supportive manner that Yusuf had hoped - though he didn’t think otherwise - that they would keep to however long they had together.

”And that bothers you?” He meant to plain out say, but in the end of it came out as a question.

“I- It’s,” Nicolo began and broke off a few times, his hands coming up to help him speak in a rare show of frustration, that so seldom made itself known, “What if we didn’t give them enough credit? What if the well-wisher, as misguided as he might be, discovered us so easily because him and his own know what we’ve been so desperately trying to find out all this time? What if they hold the answers? What if they  _ know _ ?”

The thought of someone else having their answers crossed Yusuf’s mind since that fateful night in his homeland, since waking up alone and since countless deaths after... It haunted him through sleepless nights with vivid dreams of Nicolo and the two others, and at first he believed perhaps they knew. Then he met Nicolo and all hope for that had gone, granted replaced with something else entirely, but still...

The truth - if there even was one - was important, but not as important as taking advantage of their time and their gift. 

“What if they do? Would that change anything?” He asked, as gently as possible.

This last question seemed to finally get through to Nicolo, making him pause his hasty pace and turn, frowning.

“Don’t you want to know anymore?” He wondered.

With the slight breeze and the moonlight to frame Nicolo’s face, Yusuf smiled and recalled all the times he wanted to say this, all the stories they shared and all the memories he intended to create... The words came freely, as always between them, and he took Nicolo’s hand, the touch familiar as breathing now, and hoped it soothed him enough.

”I dreamt of you for three years,” he started, the darkness around them forcing his tone to be mellower than he would have liked, but then again - Nicolo already experienced it, so perhaps he didn’t need to convey his confusion. “I thought you were a sign from above - perhaps once I found you, I would be able to have proper understanding of this,” Yusuf paused to gesture between them with both their hands, molded together as they were. “I didn’t know much about you other than how you looked and that you were far away... But something was clear - we were both real, and needed to find each other. Allah, or perhaps you would call it fate itself, had been kind enough and I did find you, but it took for us to flee the battlefield to realise that you had no answers. At first I was disappointed, thinking maybe if we went to Ameera... But in Cairo, I decided it shouldn’t matter. Given the choice, I would like to know, of course.” Yusuf trailed off, trying to regain his point, but it seemed too far away now, looking at Nicolo. Unable to help himself, he used his other hand to cup Nicolo’s cheek, the touch as reassuring as it was grounding, and Yusuf found his voice again.

“Nicolo, listen to me, it shouldn’t matter because I would not trade this for anything. Again and again I would rise from the dead and have you by my side, and that will be more than enough for me - because of you, because of us.”

He watched as Nicolo closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, like it was the only thing he wanted to focus on, like it was the only thing that mattered to him suddenly, his body going from strained muscles and sharp angles, to soft loose lines. 

“Always the dreamer,” he muttered, or so Yusuf thought, the words slightly muffled, “As if I could ever wish for anything more…”

Yusuf smiled despite himself. It was another thought that crossed his mind just before sleep took him day after day, and a thing he had only allowed himself to indulge in when his mind got away with him - when holding Nicolo close, the endless possibilities…

He meant what he said before, how some things were better left unspoken before being let out into the world too soon, but this one felt right, even if it might bring some sadness along... Yusuf knew he’d rather share everything with Nicolo, the good as well as the bad.

”I could wish for more,” he said. “A house, somewhere remote enough to spend our days uncaring for the world, with just the two of us...” it was bittersweet and nostalgic in a way he could not explain, but knew Nicolo understood. “I would take sleeping on the ground or in some horrid cave with just us and the bats if that was all we would get, just as long as it’s with you... But I could hope for a home, some day...”

It took Nicolo a minute to process, but in a strangest way - now that he’d brought the man to the same place, to a corner of his mind that they could share - Yusuf was at peace. He expected to feel more torn, almost wished for the trepidation to come, as it would inevitably have to fade away, but it never touched his heart in the first place. All he could sense was Nicolo’s warm cheek and his fingers tight around Yusuf’s, all he could feel was safe.

“The only home I knew wasn’t particularly full of affection or happiness,” he sighed in the end, “But I suppose the family we make would be much different…”

Only briefly, Yusuf allowed himself to imagine the prospect of a home together - of a chosen family and perhaps a farm, far away from anyone who would notice them… It was maddening, to think they could’ve had it all, and yet to have it completely out of reach...

“My only true home is with you,” Yusuf mused out loud instead, knowing it to be true. “Whatever we choose after this...”

Nicolo surprised him both with one of his rarer wide smiles and his words.

“Thank you,” he said, and it sounded like a key to some secret hidden within.

It made Yusuf chuckle, the sound bouncing off the walls of the city around them. 

“What do you have to thank me for?” He asked, a smile on his face mirroring Nicolo’s.

“For giving me something to look forward to,” the man shrugged, and it made the response so casual, Yusuf couldn’t help but pull him in a little closer to touch their foreheads together again, “Now and always.”

Eventually, they wound up on one of Messina crooked rocky hills spattered with coarse dry grass - not the most comfortable place to rest, although with a view of the sea they crossed to get this far, the sky on the horizon just turning to a light haze, but the stars and the moon still bright and vivid overhead, as if they would come down just for the two of them if they willed it so. Yusuf made his home in the meantime with his head on Nicolo’s lap, as the man propped himself up on his elbows and directed his gaze skyward. Yusuf was content with the silence, and while he felt most of what was troubling Nicolo was behind them now, he still wanted to make sure he was distracted enough. 

“I believe I owe you a story,” Yusuf said, referring to how he was able to pick the lock in Lenuzo’s room. 

He knew Nicolo understood, as the man above him hummed in a way to show he had his undivided attention. 

“While my father made sure I was well educated in the trades of fighting and bargaining, he also gave me quite a free reign in how else I spent my time... There weren’t many children my age at my home town, but most of them that were had always been up to no good.” Yusuf chuckled at the memory, the other children’s laughter as they set pranks ringing through his mind as though they were right there beside him now. 

“One day, they had included myself and two others - challenged us to a dare and locked us in an abandoned house not far from our town... It took half a day before we realised they weren’t coming back. I knew of lock picking, of course, never having tried so for myself, but somehow my thirteen years old mind managed to pull it off just before dusk, and we were able to get out. The looks on their faces was worth it I must admit, and they begged me to teach them. Can you imagine after that, that when I told them it was sheer luck - they did not believe it!”

He felt Nicolo laugh more than heard it, the sound being too airy and drifting as it tended to be most times.

“When did you decide to leave?” He wondered after a beat, and as much as the subject wasn’t Yusuf’s favorite, he was oddly relieved, comforted even to have Nicolo ask so lightly. 

“Some time after I turned twenty, I suppose,” Yusuf said, his eyes falling shut to focus on the comfort. ”But even before that, I went in and out of Tunis to put my sword to good use for coin, and when that did not seem enough, I left to try and help more people… My life in Tunis seems to have been much too long ago though - it almost feels like a different life altogether.”

He felt Nicolo shift his weight, and was about to move, when one of his hands ended up brushing Yusuf’s hair away from his forehead, and the feeling was so utterly calming, he couldn’t help but relax again, marveling in the soft barely-there touches.

“I think maybe in a way it was a different life,” Nicolo mused, “Perhaps we were both different men entirely before all this… I have been thinking about that for some time. How much of my becoming who I am now depended on the transformation and how much was simply me, as I’ve always been, realising things in a new light? Perhaps it’s the same for all of us...”

Either the soothing tone or the words Nicolo chose put a smile on his face, and Yusuf did not linger at figuring out which. 

It was funny, in a way, thinking how not long ago he wished for nothing but to run his sword through Nicolo, and now... Having his eyes closed, body completely slack and mind revealed almost entirely was the safest he ever felt. 

“I think,” he said eventually, “We might have to keep changing, adjusting.”

The rhythm of the strokes passing through Yusuf’s curls broke, Nicolo’s hand forgetting to move as he seemed to put his focus elsewhere. It took him a little while to respond.

“There are some things that I wish would change in the world,” he considered, his voice shallower, as if he didn’t entirely want Yusuf to hear, and yet couldn’t help sharing his thoughts, “And then some that I wish would be forever… Is it careless of me to hope that we would be the other one - to hope that we wouldn’t have to change?”

“We would be the same as well,” Yusuf said, opening his eyes and gazing up at Nicolo. He then raised his hand to put on Nicolo’s chest, right above where his heart was. The thrumming against his palm distracted him just momentarily before he continued. “In here, our core... We would remain the same. On the outside, perhaps, we would change with the times, with the places we find ourselves in,” he smiled again to only dream of the places they might travel to. “But here, between us, always the same.”

The motion of Nicolo’s hand returned slowly as a smile claimed his face, one of Yusuf’s favourite - a phantom smile, unbeknownst to anyone who didn’t care to know the man as well as he did, a within rather than an outside sort of smile…

“It never scares you to make promises, does it? The world can be so big and so ruthless, and yet I’ve never seen you doubt yourself withstanding it all,” he noted. 

From someone else it might’ve sounded as an accusation of flightiness or naivety, but with the way Nicolo spoke of the world - with reverence and dread, despair almost, and of the man in his arms as something equally boundless - two forces endlessly resisting and completing one another - it came out as praise Yusuf wasn’t sure he could fully comprehend even…

“Nothing scares me when I have you by my side,” Yusuf simply said, hoping it would be explanation enough. 

It was a given, he thought, by now. But he would say it over and over again and would never be done with it.

They stayed until the light of upcoming sunrise grew, until the moon faded away and the inky blackness of the sky was replaced with transparent shades of lilac and blue bringing to life the cityscape below, talking when something came to mind and feeling content with quiet when nothing did. Yusuf didn’t feel tired or sleep-deprived really, his thoughts coming and going clearly and measuredly like the waves on the distant sea. It was Nicolo’s chore to wake him up at around this hour to pray ever since they set up their routine for taking watches on the road and even without speaking of it, Yusuf knew the man took great pride in the duty. This was how Nicolo began every day, other than the couple of days prior to Messina, when he couldn’t risk stopping them or fully engage in his prayers. It had been heartwarming, letting Nicolo partake in his own religion in that way, and although Yusuf had quite a complex relationship with his faith, he knew Nicolo’s own was even more so. 

He was not arrogant enough to presume to know it all, but he knew his own journey with belief had changed his devotion quite a lot, ever since he died for the first time. When he was alone, hurt and scared, he had thought Allah had abandoned him, and his faith wavered, but he found his way back to it - it felt right, and he had come to look at their condition as a blessing in that way first.

He remembered how Nicolo disagreed, back at the start when they talked about it...

Yusuf knew Allah’s power did not come from humans who physically showed their faith, but that it was required of them. He would never force Nicolo to give up his own way of life, or beliefs, to make room for Yusuf’s own, because it didn’t matter, and it shouldn’t matter. But with Ramadan approaching, he knew they needed to delve deeper into his faith, he needed Nicolo to gain better understanding.

“I think it has become my favorite part of the day,” Nicolo pondered out loud, as if reading Yusuf’s thoughts, or maybe just having observed him closely enough, “It’s nice to have a constant, something reliable and sure. You know, the first time I saw you pray I couldn’t keep my eyes off you… It had to be very ignorant and rude of me, but it was like a dance with god - I’ve never seen anything akin to it, a prayer so tangible...”

Yusuf nodded in understanding. It meant a lot, how considerate and respectful Nicolo was, especially on all things that involved his religion. Even as enemies, he never disrespected him or his faith, always choosing to learn, to better educate himself. Still, it made Yusuf smile, in the way Nicolo sounded so revered, especially considering his history. 

“I am sure it was the prayer that made you stare,” he chuckled, looking up to see Nicolo’s reaction.

His hand stuttered again, although this time only for a blink as he looked sharply down, his eyes so big they seemed to pull Yusuf in, rendering him unable to look away, like gazing up at the moon. And then Nicolo scoffed, suddenly as if the reaction was physical rather than anything else.

“I keep wondering whether it’s you being full of yourself,” he said, running his fingers through Yusuf’s hair again, somehow half-pointedly and half-unconsciously, “Or me being transparent.”

Yusuf hummed in contentment, the movement of Nicolo’s fingers in his hair unimaginably pleasant. He had only hoped to return the favour when he reached out to Nicolo’s free hand and moved his own fingers against his wrist and across his forearm. 

“Well, either way - you had been very distracting.”

“Should I apologise?” Nicolo asked, earnestly it seemed, although the smile was still in his voice. 

“That depends on what you intend to apologise for,” Yusuf replied, unable to truly help himself.

“I had been taught that it is one of the worst offenses to intrude on a man’s time with god,” Nicolo considered, leaving his statement somewhat open ended. 

“You didn’t intrude,” Yusuf hurried to promise him. “Not back then, and not ever, I suppose. You have shown my faith nothing but kindness since then.”

“I think people tend to make a lot of rules for their faiths, do many things to be considered worthy of their god,” Nicolo mused out loud, by the tone of his voice a thought that’s been on his mind for some time, “But they rarely think to make sure that their god is worthy of their efforts. I think a worthy god would care more about those who tend to his world and see to its wellbeing, than observe every rule of worship yet walking the lands in carelessness…”

Yusuf thought of this before actually replying. The idea had been on his mind before, as he knew how personal faith can be. He also knew, without a doubt, that showing true intent in others wellbeing was much more important than any and all religious obligations. It was comforting to realise - even if Yusuf considered it before - how aligned their priorities were.

“Allah is almighty and his power does not depend on the devotion of men, despite how we have been created to worship him. He is all and he is everywhere, and is in the world around us, so worshipping Him is worthy of us bettering ourselves... It’s more than just belief, I suppose, and perhaps harder to explain, but as much as I enjoy the connection the prayers and customs give me, I feel obligated to Allah and to myself. Especially here, and especially when next month is Ramadan, which we dedicate to reflect and pray, and fast during the day. I can be excluded on account of travelling, but...” 

Yusuf knew Nicolo would understand, even when there was no real deliberation.

“You keep reminding me of notions I thought I moved on from a long time ago now,” Nicolo nodded softly, “It’s important,” he continued, stating, not asking this time, “It will be important to me as long as it’s important to you, so what can I do to help?”

“It is,” Yusuf agreed just to give himself a moment to think.

It was important, Nicolo was able to point that just right; Yusuf felt the need to preserve that for just a while longer, but he would never make Nicolo go out of his way because of it. 

“I wouldn’t want to part from my faith, as I would like to keep believing in my own way... I do feel obligated, perhaps to myself now more than ever, to preserve my faith in this strange land.”

He could feel a soft thoughtful murmur travel through Nicolo’s body and then nothing else for quite some time as he pondered over this.

“Our circumstances are often harsh and drive us in directions that are beyond our control, but it wouldn’t do for us to subside and let them overshadow what’s in our hearts,” he reasoned at last, almost as if they were discussing hypotheticals, “If we weren’t bound as we are, if you didn’t have to see anything as hindrance or an excuse, what would your heart say then?”

It felt horrible to imagine a life without Nicolo, as he asked, but Yusuf was both unable to deny him the consideration of his question and curious of the outcome, so he made himself think.

“It would force me to go back to Tunis,” he said slowly, carefully, so Nicolo wouldn’t think for a moment the imagination came easily. “To fast with my family.” 

It was bittersweet more often than not, thinking of his family, but he had hoped by now that Nicolo knew that if it was up to him, should it be Yusuf’s choice - if by some chance he was able to undo this thing - he’d never choose to go back without Nicolo forever by his side.

The man’s hand froze in his hair again, and this time Yusuf knew without thinking to look up, his eyes meeting Nicolo’s - glowing with the blooming dawn, but somehow discontent. 

“You told me what you would have to do,” he muttered pointedly, “Now, please, tell me what you would wish for, for yourself, not anyone else, nor any duty or obligation.”

“I would wish to keep this tradition,” Yusuf said, no longer needing to consider. He wondered how Nicolo always managed to draw truth from him without even trying.

It was too simple to be considered comfortable, but Yusuf found he did not care much any longer.

“Then we shall do our best to keep it regardless of circumstance,” Nicolo decided, sounding excited almost, if a little melancholy for reasons Yusuf couldn’t exactly pinpoint, “You would have to teach me though, as I don’t know enough to be of much aid.”

How quickly Nicolo had turned this situation to their own warmed Yusuf’s heart. Perhaps he was indeed so used to being alone that the realisation that Nicolo - like himself - saw them as undividable, took him by surprise. It was a nice realisation, he would’ve been the first to admit, but the real wonder was perhaps how natural it felt. Like it was meant to be - like growing into one’s destiny... 

In the end, Yusuf was only able to smile at his friend, his reply as warm as his soul. 

“I suppose we would never stop being each other’s guides when lost,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some breathing (cuddling) room before metaphorical shit goes down? XD As always let us know how you like the story so far and we'd like to thank again @Reyb18 here on AO3 for advising us on Muslim representation, although all mistakes that may remain are solely our own! Thanks for reading <3  
> ~A&K


	22. GHOSTS

Nicolo

Messina, September 1098

  
  


Nicolo told himself to be calm, be steady for whichever time - however many times it took. Their preparations were made - Halene waited for them with their horses near the docks, their passage for Reggio secured with the local captain whose main source of income was making the trips, Lenuzo’s papers were in Yusuf’s pocket - all they had to do was wait, right there - in the alleyway on the way from the future Cathedral to the brothel - for the Revered Father to show up. They arrived early, Nicolo knew, and yet leaning against the wall of crooked porous rock used to build in Messina, something digging into his spine, it felt as if hours had passed. He tried to make himself keep track of time by counting Yusuf’s steps as he began to pace around in circles.

The man was just as impatient - it was evident from a single glance. He didn’t hide anything, didn’t try to put on a show to ease either of them. Nicolo supposed by now, if he tried, he would see right through Yusuf regardless. It made the waiting bearable in a way though, to know that despite all else, Yusuf was there with him. 

He was able to tell the moment Yusuf turned to look at the main road one last time, that he wouldn’t stay silent for much longer. The way his body moved and his eyebrows knitted into an expressive frown, Nicolo was just waiting for the words to accompany the actions.

”I feel as though he’s never going to show,” Yusuf said, some frustration slipping to his tone.

Nicolo couldn’t help but smile at how little poise they had between the two of them. 

“He’ll be here,” he insisted, filling his voice with enough fortitude for both.

Yusuf returned the smile, even if it was tighter than usual. He nodded once and moved towards Nicolo, leaving not more than half a step between them. His expression seemed troubled once more, and he looked distracted just for a moment. Nicolo was able to see a thought process of sorts in his eyes, and then Yusuf raised his hand to Nicolo’s shirt. It was looser than what Nicolo used to wear when they first met, and once Yusuf’s fingers fiddled with it, Nicolo realised it was out of nervousness. 

He had waited for Yusuf to say something, but the man’s stare was on his shirt, just where his hand was touching it, an incredulous look on his face. Without even thinking about it, Nicolo raised his own fingers to rest around Yusuf’s wrist, not to remove his hand, but as a comfort, as small as it had to be at a time like this. 

“We’ve done everything we could,” Nicolo assured him, “Now it’s up to fate, so there’s no use fretting about it.”

It were the same words he told himself as a prayer, so he knew Yusuf wouldn’t consider him a hypocrite for saying so, and yet all he wanted was for the man to meet his gaze.

Nicolo should have been surprised how well it worked, but he figured with the amount of time they’ve known each other and the experiences they’ve been through, he really should’ve expected Yusuf to use his words - or perhaps his tone alone - as an anchor of sorts. He raised his head slightly at last to look at Nicolo properly, a convinced expression now on his face.

“Completely correct,” he muttered. “As you always are, Nicolo.”

Nicolo found himself speechless at such sentiment, as he did when the spotless brightness with which Yusuf regarded him made itself known. It would’ve been an unsettling sort of conviction coming from anyone else, a pressure leaving no margin for error, that no man could live up to, and yet from Yusuf it was in a way akin to faith… It was an unconditional benefit of the doubt, that no matter what mistakes Nicolo made, were indeed made in good conscience - the benefit that was mutual as once Yusuf looked at him, Nicolo knew without fail that everything he held dear in the world resided in those eyes.

He was about to reply as well, perhaps try his hand at lightening the mood with a joke, when footsteps sounded in the distance, making both of them tense and turn.

Yusuf’s hand fell to his side, an act that immediately made Nicolo feel the loss. They would have time later, he tried to console himself as they both waited for the newcomer to inevitably pass through their alleyway. 

The Reverend Father looked just as when they saw him a few days ago: the same clothes and the same self-righteous scowl on his face, even despite the glimpse of nervous recognition when he saw Yusuf and Nicolo. Most people would be at least somewhat intimidated to see two armed men waiting for them, but not Lenuzo. There was something else entirely to him - a defensiveness mixed in with venom broken only as something disdainful came across his features when his beady eyes settled on Yusuf. Nicolo wanted to wipe that off expression from his face - he had no business looking at Yusuf that way.

“I see our conversation at my chambers was not sufficient,” Lenuzo said. “Let me make myself clear: I do not require the aid of illiterate thieves and I do not yield to blackmail. So tell whoever sent you to come by the Cathedral at a reasonable hour and then we can speak as reasonable men.”

So he would try to bravado and bluff his way out of this, Nicolo thought… How telling.

“A man with so much to hide would do better to remember sage advice,” Nicolo replied, perhaps harsher than intended, but his composure strained as it was, Lenuzo should be grateful for that much already, “As he surely shouldn’t underestimate those who would humble themselves once. They would not ask kindly again and they would not forgive tresspasses twice.”

Lenuzo scoffed as though the entire ordeal was beneath him. He had schooled his expression well enough, but Nicolo was still able to see the slight apprehension there. 

“I would not negotiate with you,” he spat out. “You have no leverage over me, and so you should run back to your masters and let them know you have failed whatever fruitless labor they sent you to do.”

Next to him, Yusuf moved his hand to his pocket, holding onto the papers they took from Lenuzo. 

“Well, I suppose calling us illiterate is just wishful thinking on your part - as we clearly know what you’re guilty of.”

“As for our masters - we are our own masters,” Nicolo added, “So either you negotiate with us now or I assure you that I’ll make it my duty to have the news of your misdoings reach the Pope himself.”

Reverend Father listened carefully to them, his eyes narrowed in calculation, but otherwise seemingly unaffected with either Nicolo’s own well-measured hostility nor Yusuf’s matter-of-fact scorn.

“Who are you to threaten  _ me _ with the Pope?” He demanded, making himself sound as untouchable as he was perhaps used to feeling.

Nicolo only pulled on the leather cord around his neck to reveal the ornate cross he had grown to despise with so much of his heart.

“Someone who knows him well.”

Lenuzo looked at the slab of gold once, spat under his feet and cursed soundly, glancing away as all pretense of boldness evaporated from him, replaced with resentment and spite.

“That whore,” he muttered, just loud enough for the two of them to hear, evidently connecting the dots at last, “I’ll have her stoned! Did she lay with you too to have you do her bidding?”

“That  _ woman _ ,” Yusuf said in a way that only meant he was correcting the word Lenuzo used to describe Halene. 

Then his eyes turned cold, and Nicolo was suddenly reminded of the man Yusuf was when he first met him on the battlefield - not only a force to be reckoned with, but also one to be feared. 

“Her name is Halene. She is twice the human being that you are, and her bravery is tenfold, so you will do no such thing, or I will make it  _ my _ mission to make you suffer a much crueler fate than my friend deems necessary.”

As he stepped closer, Nicolo found his arm acting on its own accord, coming up to halt Yusuf in his step even as he moved no further, his hand finding rest on the man’s forearm like it was home for it.

“Thus you will not threaten her, you will not speak ill of her, you will not even think of her after this conversation is over,” Nicolo concluded, his voice so steady and devoid of emotion in his attempt to stay collected, that he wondered if the threat he meant even translated, “Now unless you want us to decide this endeavor is worthless of the effort it’s taking altogether, I suggest you stop offending the good people you’ve come across and start answering questions.”

The bitter defeat on the man’s face was all the incentive either of them needed. It wasn’t necessary, but Lenuzo spoke regardless. 

“You have come to destroy me, then? Ask your questions, boy, and I will answer. Then leave this city, and do not come back.”

Nicolo felt a sharp retort on the tip of Yusuf’s tongue without even having to look at him, and hurried to keep the conversation on track.

“The man with scars on his hands, Reverend Father,” he prompted, “What do you know of him?” 

“This again?” Lenuzo barked, “He must’ve done something impressive to cross you, I’ll give him that…”

Yusuf snorted, this time giving Nicolo no chance to intercept his words. 

“If you continue to dodge our questions, you might find out we are capable of far more impressive things.”

The old man’s scowl twisted into something much uglier for a moment as he shot Yusuf a look, and Nicolo found himself choking the life out of the hilt of his sword to keep from losing the grip on his temper. The next words from Lenuzo’s mouth caught him off guard however.

“He had papers from Cardinal Rainerius of San Clemente,” he hissed, “To grant him aid, financial or otherwise, from every parish he might come across on his way. He demanded money from the Cathedral funds and he was far more convincing than the two of you. For what purpose I know not, as I know nothing of where he was going.”

Cardinal Rainerius of San Clemente… Nicolo thought fast, trying to tie loose ends together and failing. The well-wisher had to have either come from Rome or through the city to gain Cardinal Rainerius’s support, and the man was influential in his own right - some even rumored him to be the next Pope… But same as the current Pope, the Cardinal was a man of his own interests, not so much invested in superstitions, or at least so Nicolo believed.

“We need a name, Reverend Father,” he said at last, wishing this conversation could’ve been done at last, so that he could share what he knew with Yusuf and think.

“You don’t even know his name?” Lenuzo raised a scornful eyebrow, his ridicule as evident as it was pointless, “Guiscard of Toulouss.”

“You will speak of this to no one,” Yusuf said, taking one step towards the man after all. He didn’t seem to find interest in explaining what would happen should Lenuzo fail to do so, but Nicolo knew he didn’t need to. 

The look on Lenuzo’s face was enough evidence that he valued his own comfort and status much more than some unknown ally. 

Yusuf put his hand on Nicolo’s arm and urged him away, in the general direction of the docks. They only managed to take a few steps however, before Reverend Father found his voice to call after them.

“What about my papers? I can pay and you look like you could use it!”

Yusuf let out a low and humorless chuckle, and would’ve kept going didn’t Nicolos’s feet falter as he turned to look at the old man over his shoulder.

“You would pay us by applying yourself better to your own teachings,” he called back, “And should we return and find you up to the same old faults, there would be no more warnings.”

Yusuf gave him one last look before moving his hand to the small of Nicolo’s back, the touch barely there, but still as grounding and soothing as any indication of Yusuf’s presence. He waited until Nicolo glanced his way, before nodding, and they walked again away from Lenuzo’s stunned self.

“Pay us,” Yusuf scoffed when they were far enough out of earshot. 

He kept closer than usual, closer than was wise perhaps, and dictated a fast pace for Nicolo to follow. He didn’t mind of course, but the longer he observed trying to gage Yusuf’s state of mind, the more at a loss he became. Yusuf didn’t look too perturbed with Lenuzo’s treatment, not beyond the obvious annoyance and indignation, but Nicolo thought he might as well never know for sure, unless he took a page from Yusuf’s own book and asked him.

It was a few more minutes before a convenient nook appeared in the alley ahead, and as Nicolo stepped slightly away from the man’s guiding touch, he caught his palm instead and pulled him towards the shadows. 

“Nicolo?” Yusuf asked. 

The tone he used oftentimes meant several questions, and that he gave Nicolo free rein to choose what to reply to. He had a look about him too, the one that clearly meant he had his undivided attention, regardless of their new companion waiting for them at the docks. 

Halene can wait just for a few more moments, Nicolo decided.

“Are you alright?” He simply wondered, having wrecked his mind over how to ask the dozens of questions he wished to ask, as overly nuanced and yet incomplete as they would be for exploring Yusuf’s mind and heart on this. He hoped his tone would help convey the meaning better, what with the man’s uncanny ability to know him in and out as he did...

Yusuf moved closer, squeezing the hand Nicolo still had in his. With the amount of times they have held hands by now, Nicolo knew each time meant something different. This one was a slight pressure, a silent confession that everything was alright. It was an answer, despite how unsatisfactory it felt. 

“What, exactly, is the cause for your concern?” Yusuf asked with a smile.

Nicolo let his eyes fall shut, a momentary reprieve as he leaned back into the wall and tried to exhale his frustration with Lenuzo’s despicable behaviour and his unsatisfactory answers that only begged more questions, as well as his own outrage and impatience, Yusuf’s touch - the only thing tethering him to this earth.

“I know that Lenuso is a drop in the ocean and his mind means nothing, and yet I can’t help but find it hard to swallow his attitude. I only wanted to make sure that neither his words nor his demeanour affected you,” Nicolo whispered in hushed arabic, feeling as Yusuf moved closer to hear, even if he didn’t open his eyes.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf said, and when no response came, he held up their joined hands to Nicolo’s chest, right above his heart. “Nicolo, please look at me,” he continued, his tone too soft. 

Unable to deny anything to his friend, he forced his eyes open, and Yusuf smiled again. He moved his other to Nicolo’s cheek, the touch gentle and reassuring as it had been the previous night.

“The only words or demeanour I care about is yours,” he started, and Nicolo had so many ways to respond, ways to contradict or support or both at once, but Yusuf must have seen it in his eyes, so he continued. “These are lesser men - men who think the world should hold them in high esteem because they themselves cannot see fault in their ways. Why should I care, why should you care, what people such as these say about the both of us? What do they know about us? Nicolo,” he paused to push their joint hands further into Nicolo’s chest, as to prove his point. “We know the truth - we know each other’s hearts and that is the only thing that should matter. Do not be affected by the nonsense of lesser men, as they are not worth a moment of your time.”

Nicolo wished in the strangest way that their hands could reach within his chest, so that Yusuf could touch his heart as his words touched his soul, so that he could know what Nicolo himself didn’t know how to fathom, not to mention convey.

“And there I thought you might need me to reassure you for once,” was all he managed in the end, lame as the words might’ve been.

Yusuf’s thumb rubbed gently on the edge of Nicolo’s cheekbone, right below the corner of his eye. He smiled then, an afterthought, and Nicolo knew it wouldn’t be long before Yusuf voiced his thoughts.

“I need you to reassure me of the same,” he spoke slowly. “I need you to be as solid in us as I am, but I don’t need words to know it is so.”

Nicolo thought about this, his own mind racing even as he went very still. Yusuf needed to know he mattered to Nicolo more than anyone else? Even though it was a given, as undeniable as that sun rose in the east and set in the west… Even though Nicolo didn’t have anyone else -  _ never had _ anyone as overwhelming to his life and to his mind as Yusuf, as overshadowing and captivating, and important - as vital. There was no way, no reason Yusuf wouldn’t know it, and yet he wanted reassurance just for the sake of it?

Nicolo found tenderness in that, one of the few indulgences they could afford, an indulgence that cost nothing and meant everything, and found his fingers slipping from Yusuf’s hold, only to wrap his arms around the man’s torso, pulling him impossibly close, so that their breaths would be one continuous movement, no space between them, nothing to tell the world they weren’t a united being of shared souls, that weren’t perheapst created as two parts of the whole, but instead chose to grow and expand, and accommodate one another. After so long in Messina, Yusuf smelled like the sea and something else, something like sun-warmed grasses, aestival and free - like small forest clearings on the way to Jerusalem, like Ameera’s kitchen, like scrolls in Cairo library - like home…

Yusuf inhaled deeply, and Nicolo felt it shake his entire body. He held his hand to the back of Nicolo’s head, a pressure keeping him in the crook of his neck, and wrapped his other hand around his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

“Always talk to me, Nicolo,” Yusuf said, his words vibrating through Nicolo with how tightly they were holding each other. “I would listen to you first, always you first... The rest matters little.”

He let himself dissolve in those words, let them claim his mind, convince him there was nobody in the world who could touch them, nobody stronger than this fragile second in time filled with gentleness and hope - nobody but ghosts. And then as Yusuf began to pull away, slowly as if every gained inch pained him a little, Nicolo made himself remember.

“The rest are still out there,” he said, hoping Yusuf would forgive him for having to bring the world in to where it was unwelcome, “They are still after us… But at least we’re a step closer to knowing men from ghosts, and men as powerful as they may be, can be stopped.”

Yusuf smirked, albeit ruefully, and touched their foreheads together for another too short moment before pulling away entirely.

“Or at the very least convinced in their wrongdoings,” he added pointedly, “Tell me what he meant though, who is this Cardinal he spoke of?”

“Cardinal Rainerius of San Clemente,” Nicolo nodded, “He’s an influential man, some even claim him to be the next in line to be Pope…”

Yusuf didn’t say anything for a whole of ten seconds - not that Nicolo had counted - and only once his expression turned incredulous did he speak, in a matter-of-fact tone, one that held more meaning that Nicolo would have wanted, but also unable to tap precisely on what it meant.

“We must have done something either immensely wrong or unbelievably right to have the attention of such a powerful man.”

“He is a powerful man, yes,” Nicolo agreed, thinking clearly now that he had Yusuf to ground and direct his mind, “But men like him don’t reach as far without being more pragmatic than anything. Or without owing favors to the right beneficiaries…”

“What, do you think, would make him come after us?” Yusuf asked, and Nicolo did manage to catch the subtext and meaning this time.  _ What have we done wrong? _ He had wanted to say, no doubt. He didn’t think Yusuf meant to hide it, but rather that he was worried that should he give the words proper outlet, they might come true.

Nicolo found his free hand reaching up to curl around the back of Yusuf’s neck in a desperate attempt to comfort him. It was equally endearing and telling of Yusuf’s views of reason and consequence that even after all of Nicolo’s warnings, he still couldn’t fathom the irrationality of corrupt faith. 

“Any of the false resonings of the insane,” Nicolo assured him, “Whatever makes them burn women as witches and hang men as heretics, and throw stones at whoever they cannot comprehend or control. Or perhaps neither of that - maybe he owed this Guiscard of Toulouss a favor or, as I’m sure, done enough wrong to be as susceptible to blackmail as our friend Lenuzo… Regardless, I don’t suppose we’ll know unless we ask?” He posed this last sentiment more as a question for Yusuf to consider than a plain observation.

Yusuf nodded once as Nicolo looked at him expectedly, his eyes focused once again on his friend, a look Nicolo knew could only mean he was ready for strategies. 

“So we shall visit this Cardinal and find out ourselves,” Yusuf said. “And if he refuses to answer, we will find how to make him, until all those who think they hold power over others will succumb to the truth.”

“The last time I heard Rainerius was in Rome and since he still holds the title I don’t suppose that’s changed,” Nicolo let him know.

“Rome,” Yusuf sighed. If Nicolo had to wager, he had heard of the place before, and not his favourite things. It would’ve been hard not to, with Rome being an empire and Yusuf’s grasp of the world never thinning down to his own lands to begin with. “Do you think this Guiscard would also be there, now that I assume he is not longer in Cairo?”

Nicolo considered this - the subject of the well-wisher sore on his mind as it was…

“If he didn’t go east to search for us,” he mused, “Which I would assume he’d abandon sooner rather than later, that is unless somebody in Alexandria tipped him off about our destination… He would return to his superiors yes, what’s bothering me though is that he’s French.”

“French... I have never met French people before,” Yusuf hummed out loud. “I don’t suppose I’m off to a great start with them, considering the first one I met tried to get us killed.”

Nicolo couldn’t help but chuckle ruefully at this, thinking that once the same could’ve been said for himself.

“I assure, you have, my friend,” he muttered, his voice low and regretful, “A good half of the crusaders’ forces came from France, and France is where the Holy War was decided upon, with Pope Urban’s sermon in Clermont… If not for that sermon, I might never have left to fight…”

As if sensing his initial line of thought, Yusuf squeezed the hand he was still holding. 

“I suppose I haven’t had time to properly familiarise myself with Frenchmen from the crusade,” he breathed out a laugh then, and Nicolo knew he was just trying to add humour to the heavy conversation. “I suppose I only ever thought of introducing myself to you, so it’s good that you came to fight in a horrid sense of way, as otherwise I would have needed to keep you in my dreams.”

“I suppose we would’ve found each other eventually,” Nicolo replied very seriously, taking Yusuf in - mischief sparkling in his eyes, a loose crooked smirk on his lips and warmth radiating from every inch of him. It was impossible not to respond to him, not to find himself unconsciously mirroring Yusuf’s expression after only a breath, what with how it’s been making him feel, “After all we have been making promises to each other before we even met. Although, I can’t even think of how poorly I would’ve had to sleep alone at night.”

Yusuf chuckled once again, though there was something different about this one. It seemed more personal, less whimsical. Before Nicolo was able to ask - as he felt he could, now that there was no space for secrets between them - the emotion was gone, replaced with a sly raise of an eyebrow. 

“So this is about proper sleep, then?”

“Amongst other things,” Nicolo muttered, trying and failing to make his breathing steady and measured, “Such as feeling the happiest I ever have and having somebody important enough not only to die for, but also to live for…”

The words had an immediate effect on Yusuf. It looked almost as if they pained him, and briefly Nicolo thought that perhaps this was what he meant when he said that some words are better left unspoken than spoken prematurely. But by the smile that took over his face little by little and then all at once, at how Nicolo could not bear not speaking his mind, he had a feeling it wasn’t the case.

“Please choose to live and not die for me,” Yusuf asked, and Nicolo knew he was thinking of that fateful night in Cairo. For all its worth, it did some good by bringing them together more than Nicolo would’ve ever expected his death to do. “As I would do the same for you, and you know - you have to know - that despite everything, I am the happiest I have ever been too, and I would not trade our time together for the world.”

This was another thing, and despite knowing as Yusuf had said, with a rational part of his mind, that the man was indeed content, Nicolo couldn’t help but be bothered with taking him farther and farther away from his home land and his way of life… It perhaps wasn’t as bad if Yusuf did this for something - someone - who made him happier, or maybe it was even more unfair, now that they were as inseparable. Nicolo would try to make up for it as best he could, regardless…

“Our time together, for now at least, would have to be cut short I’m afraid,” he exhaled half-laughing and half-sighing, “Halene is waiting and we should probably leave the city before Lenuzo got his bearings.”

Yusuf smiled wider, once again squeezing Nicolo’s hand and pressing his forehead against his - the touch too quick, fleeting, as he pulled away again. 

“Ever the sensible one,” he joked and started walking to the street, only pausing when Nicolo didn’t immediately follow.

“One of us has to be,” he hummed to himself, unsure if Yusuf even heard him, and pushed away from the wall at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are still enjoying the story! Sorry we weren't posting as often as usual, hopefully we'll get back on schedule and as alway, let us know what you think <3  
> ~A&K


	23. THE WISP SINGS

Yusuf

Outskirts of Taranto, September 1098

  
  


Yusuf knew he shouldn’t worry about travelling with Halene. He reasoned with himself, even as they boarded the ship taking them to Reggio, that there was nothing to worry himself over. And yet, the sudden necessity to share their journey with someone else had been daunting in a way.

By the time they settled on the road to Taranto however, he recognised there was simply no need for his anxiety - Halene was capable on her own, looking to help out as they set up camp and most evenings even cooking alongside Nicolo as he both taught her and learned from her, with the same unwavering patience.

It were those moments, with Nicolo and Halene sitting close and discussing her future hopes of becoming a physician or sharing lighter stories of their past, that he cherished the most. Nicolo’s goodness shone through whether he intended it or not, and as he explained something or the other - Yusuf would be the first to admit he was too distracted to listen closely - Nicolo’s features took on the shape he adored the most - that of generosity and care, and kindness. 

The journey should have taken them four days altogether, however with only two horses between the three of them and Halene’s uneasiness with the road, they were just nearing the city on the fifth. And honestly, Yusuf couldn’t find it in him to rush either, as he discovered he enjoyed the new dynamic Halene brought on - the change refreshing, even if he did miss the warmth of Nicolo in his arms as he went to sleep.

This was another thing Yusuf needlessly bothered with prior to the trip. It was the reason why the very first night he volunteered to take the first watch, but even though Nicolo curled up next to him as close as he was able considering their less than ideal arrangements, Halene never mentioned it. She had given Yusuf a long puzzled look, as though grasping their relationship was a struggle she wasn’t necessarily prepared for, but then simply shook it off, never saying a word or regarding it as out of the ordinary beyond the weak, almost apologetic smile she’s given him as she went to sleep.

Yusuf and Nicolo, both in their own way, had made sure Halene would feel as safe and comfortable as they could make her through courtesy alone - whether on the road, when Yusuf insisted she would ride one of the horses, or at night when Nicolo placed his bedroll for her in the most secure location of whichever corner they found for camp, or in the way they both refused to have her take watches through the night.

This night, standing camp only a few hours from Taranto, Halene sought out conversation instead of a good night’s rest, and regarded Yusuf as she spoke in a low voice.

“You seem very fond of one another,” she noted long since comfortable with Yusuf’s assurance that she could always speak her mind freely with them. 

They had found a few large rocks to settle in the crook of, and Halene sat with her back to one of them, as Yusuf made himself at home across from her, the campfire dancing between them. Nicolo was sleeping soundly by his side, his head in Yusuf’s lap as he preferred lately and his legs stretched out towards the only way out into the road - always alert, even as Yusuf’s hand combed through his now longer hair with comforting steadiness.

He gave Halene a smile, as to show his agreement, and nodded after a while. 

“We are,” he said as softly as he could, not to wake Nicolo, “War had been worth it solely for him.”

She went quiet for a long time, and as Yusuf was too caught up studying the miniscule changes in Nicolo’s sleeping expressions, he thought she might’ve fallen asleep, but then Halene’s voice called for his attention again.

“I’ve never seen anyone like the two of you - the way you move around each other, it’s like a conversation that never ends…”

Yusuf knew, of course, that what he had with Nicolo was unique to the point of nonexistent for most people. Regardless, hearing it in person from someone else and outside of his own mind was strange. In a good way, he reckoned, but nonetheless strange.

“I am quite lucky,” he mused out loud, unsure whether it was what she wanted to hear, but also happy to speak about Nicolo regardless, “It had been a rather... Rocky start, but I cannot imagine going anywhere without him now.” 

Even, Yusuf thought, to the lion’s den that was Rome…

“My mother always told me that love makes fools out of men,” Halene shot back, not without amusement, “But I suppose it makes fools out of all of us. I had men only love me for my body though… Perhaps if I was one of them they’d love me for who I am.”

This made Yusuf glance up, too sharply to think about it, but Halene didn’t look his way anymore. She was gazing into the flame, her expression untouched by either bitterness or wistfulness in a way that made her look even younger.

Love. Yusuf knew it of course, had known for quite some time - even if he could not exactly say since when. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise really, when the word had been itching at his heart for a good couple of weeks. 

Suddenly, there was no better - no other way to describe what he felt for Nicolo, and it made him smile at the man in his lap, despite knowing he wouldn’t witness it or perhaps because of it. He would know soon, but not yet...

“Love... It comes in many forms, I suppose. Some make us fools and some don’t,” Yusuf said out loud, testing the word on his tongue. “You will find love that would take you as you are and would make you whole, a love that would not condition you to its will... A love worthy of poems and paintings - one that does not judge or ask you to think less of yourself. I am sure of it.”

Halene smiled at the flames, a smile that almost, but didn’t quite touch her eyes.

“I have found it,” she offered with some sort of irony that Yusuf momentarily failed to grasp, “I’ve seen it - I’m just not a part of it. But don’t pity me, for it’s not something I want for myself. A love such as this means you’ll never be your own, never be free - it might make you happy, but you’ll be fighting the world to keep him and you’ll forever be afraid. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, not for anyone, not for anything. I just want to be me.”

At the sound of the words, Yusuf’s hand paused just for a moment, before he looked at Halene again, the concept of his feelings for Nicolo still too new, still too fresh, but nonetheless logical. He wasn’t able to measure them, wasn’t able to reason with himself or seek a way out. His life with Nicolo was bound as one, and he wouldn’t be doing any of them any justice trying to overcome it or pretend otherwise.

”There are different kinds of freedom. I think ours is a great deal of luck as it is, to be as free as we are - free of judgement, or prejudice, or resentment... I can be me with him, and that’s who I want to be. It makes me better than I would’ve been on my own. I am afraid yes, and I will always be afraid, if not for him then for myself, so there is nothing more reasonable than to love him now to my best ability. Nothing that even I, with all of my words and love for poetry, am able to express. He is... And forever would be everything. It makes the world feel safer, better, much more comfortable to walk in with the knowledge that he is there, that he is here.”

“Which is why I don’t pity you either,” Halene nodded to herself, “Your way is your own, you chose it and you’re the ones walking in it. You’re doing better than most I’ve come across in my life. I only hope this world does you justice as it seems to deal in grief more often than joy…”

“You will face goodness,” he said almost immediately. 

The words sounded rehearsed to his mind, and it took half a second to remember that once in the never ending desert of his home land, he had often told himself the same thing. It made him smile, how the promise had felt like a lie sometimes, but it was the only hope he was able to have. Even as he faced needless danger, even when he subjected himself to the worst of humanity... Even as he faced a battlefield crueler than he was able to imagine, and even as he had seen the face of the man who shared the same gift as him.

The hope had not abandoned him then, nor it will in the future. His only wish now was for the same when it came to the good people they had met along the way...

This at last made Halene face him in earnest, her smile however unwilling it might’ve seemed, reaching her eyes. 

“So I suppose I see now how you won him over,” she muttered scornfully, though there was no real bite in it, “By never letting up the endless optimism?”

Yusuf chuckled, the sound escaping without check, making Nicolo stir a bit in his sleep, before he froze in hopes of not disturbing the man further. 

“You have met my Nicolo, you know he is by far much more optimistic.”

“I don’t know if he is,” Halene considered, her eyes narrowing in contemplation, “I think it’s his nature to desperately wish for the goodness in the world, to fight for it without regard for reason or his own well-being, but not without proof. He needs something, or rather someone to give life to his faith…”

“Don’t we all?” Yusuf wondered out loud. “We are not meant to live this life alone. I thought I needed isolation many times before, but I had been wrong. One can only hope this new life of yours would prove that to you, just as well as it proved me.”

“As much as I don’t want to live in need,” she shrugged, “I suppose I would like to be needed… In some way.“

Yusuf was only able to nod in response, all words leaving him as he watched Nicolo. The man was resting, blissfully immersed in whatever dream he was having - undoubtedly peaceful as there wasn’t a frown on his face. Yusuf raised his head to look at the sky above them, thanking Allah for the good fortune and wishing the same for Halene and all lost souls in the world.

_

They arrived in Taranto before noon the next day - the town was not at all what Yusuf had expected. Far from bustling Messina, it was more reminiscent of the villages they passed on the way, save perhaps for the imposing castle hanging heavy over the houses packed tight around its walls and the sprawling lands reaching beyond the horizon. Yusuf made a habit out of wearing his cloak tight and hood low over his head around settlements, even though in the day the warmth persisted, just to be on the safe side, and with how many rowdy and armed men they came across before even making it off the road, he was glad for it. Despite its humble looks, Taranto gave off the air of liveliness and tense activity - the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer clanking, speeches being given, soldier’s boots treading through the packed earth streets.

Yusuf thought back on what Halene had said. As he took in the street with Nicolo beside him and the woman herself following close behind - a perfect spot should they need to protect her, the horses keeping her from view, he thought perhaps he was just an optimist. 

He glanced over at Nicolo, finding an anxious look on the man’s face and bumped their shoulder together. 

“Doesn’t look too bad, here. Have you, by any chance, tried to lower my expectations?”

Nicolo responded with an uneasy chuckle, his eyes never pausing their searching through the faces of the passers by.

“Excuse me for not realising that a town full of war thirsty crusaders would end up quite as unimpressive,” he muttered low under his breath. 

“It’s only for tonight,” Yusuf hurried to put him at ease. 

This hadn’t been easy on either of them, Yusuf supposed, and he would much prefer the relative safety of the road - as uncomfortable as it was - except what they were doing was equally as important as their own task. 

All they needed to do was draw less attention to themselves.

“We might as well try to secure a room in an inn somewhere,” Nicolo nodded, finally making Yusuf the point of his attention, searching his face just as, if not more, thoroughly, “We’ll be safer off the streets and this might be the last chance we get to have a full night’s rest before Rome…”

Yusuf nodded, the idea of a proper bed did appeal to him. He cast a glance in the direction of the road ahead of them and wondered out loud of Halene’s future, just low enough to not be overheard. 

“Do you know the way?” He asked Nicolo. 

They had talked briefly before on where Halene would stay during her time in Taranto, but he wasn’t sure how to find the Monastery of Saint Mary 'della Giustizia by himself. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“Vaguely,” Nicolo shook his head.

And yet it didn’t take him long to find the place. Much like in Messina the monastery was a construction site more than anything, although much farther along than Lenuzo’s Cathedral. It was impressive in its own right, tall and angular, much more precise than any other building Yusuf had seen so far, perhaps due to its newness. The women tending to it wore light linen dresses and white head coverings, leaving only their faces and hands in view, each bearing a cross stark against their pale clothing. Most seemed busy, carrying stacks of folded fabric and bandages or buckets of water in and out of a temporary-looking long and low building, with smoke coming out of several chimneys. 

At the sight of it Halene seemed to liven up, watching the women with intent and excitement almost, stepping ahead of them. Before either Yusuf or Nicolo could even think of what she’s been up to, Halene approached one of the nuns, making her pause on her route if only for a moment, and spoke in a low voice.

The woman responded, her momentary irritation at being interrupted mid-chore fading, until attention and understanding took its place. She nodded, even put her bucket down to rest a hand on Halene’s shoulder as she pointed at another building, smaller and much less conspicuous, hidden between the two they noticed first. 

Halene thanked her from the looks of it, and returned to Yusuf and Nicolo, looking relieved. 

“I suppose this is it for the way,” she said, almost sheepishly all of a sudden, “I should thank you, it was perhaps the most fortunate turn of events in my life to have met you when I did.”

Yusuf was unsure of what was appropriate to bid her proper farewell at a place like this. He chose to use his words other than anything, and smiled softly at the woman. 

“You have been very brave, and we perhaps owe you our lives. You will be missed, and I wish for you to find a good life here, and luck such as ours.”

If Halene understood his reference, she gave no other response beyond a smile of her own and a short nod, and then turned to Nicolo, who took her hands in his and leaned down a little as he spoke with passion and conviction that so rarely made themselves known other than in their private conversations.

“This world will repay you with grace one day, I am sure of it, even if you don’t believe it,” he said slowly, “As I know that what you would do here will change it for the better one cured wound at a time. I hope we meet again, but if not, I know you to be capable enough to do whatever you put your mind to on your own.”

Halene laughed a little at that, shaking her head and freeing one of her hands to brush Nicolo’s cheek just once.

“As I said,” she muttered pointedly to Yusuf, “Faith and proof.”

Nicolo shot her a confused glance, but she only turned back to him and added, “You be sure to take care of each other. The rest of us will manage, yes, but it’s what I’ve seen between the two of you that will take bending the world around to persevere. Now that I suppose I’ll be doing much more praying, I’ll ask God to aid you in that, if he’d even listen to the likes of me…”

She sounded only half joking and sarcastic, Yusuf noted, and much more hopeful now.

It took a few more moments of proper goodbye, and Yusuf knew they would miss her. He had made a mental note to use his drawing skill later that evening to commit her face to something sturdier then, in case they weren’t destined to meet again after all. 

The inn Nicolo had led them to was on the outskirts of town, and Yusuf had an inkling it was there purely out of convenience - a necessary way out and into the open road with little to no competition around. Yusuf found himself barely speaking on the way over, the tension from being surrounded on every side bleeding through, and wished he was able to relax somehow. Was this how Nicolo felt throughout their journey in his own lands?

If so, Yusuf had to have been very poor at reading the man, because all it took now was one glance to know that Nicolo wasn’t any more at ease than he was. He looked around nervously before giving Yusuf an attempt at an encouraging nod, and entering. The inn didn’t look particularly well-loved, in the dim light coming through the grimy windows Yusuf only counted five patrons, minding their own and looking like local peasants rather than warriors. That was promising at least.

The innkeep - a skinny man with thinning grey hair waved the two of them over to the counter and addressed Nicolo with, “Welcome, good master. What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for lodgings for the night and a stable for our horses. We shall be leaving tomorrow at sunrise.”

Yusuf had regarded the innkeeper as he took another closer look at them. At first, he thought perhaps the man hadn’t understood they were together, but then, judging from the disapproving once over he had given Yusuf, realised it was not the case.

“This is a Christian establishment, master,” he said, his tone furthering the emotion his look provided and spoke solely to Nicolo, “As is this town, if it had gone unnoticed by you.”

Yusuf could only see Nicolo’s profile, but it was more than enough to judge the affect the man’s words had on him. It wouldn’t look like much to anyone else - a wrinkle over his brow, a tilt to his mouth, a set of his jaw - except maybe for the force of his eyes, that couldn’t be as easily denied, but to Yusuf it was as if he had screamed.

“It did not pass my notice no,” he answered with unnatural calm, “And as a Christian establishment I would’ve expected you to offer more than judgement and disdain, as it is not the place of men to judge over one another.”

The host’s eyes tightened and his mouth pressed into a thin line, although he did not look as if he wished to argue the point further, but rather appease Nicolo, most likely driven by gain more than a sudden awakening of religious conscience. 

“The best I can offer for your pagan servant is a roof over his head and a bed of hay in the stables,” he sputtered, “But I shall not give him a room or waste on him a cot on which no respecting patron should want to sleep!” 

Perhaps he had been too optimistic after all, as Halene said, but as the innkeeper’s words fully sank in, there was nothing stopping Yusuf from replying to them, even if the man didn’t deem it necessary to speak to Yusuf himself. 

“The best?” He moved closer to him, now only with a counter to stand between them. “The best you can and should offer is a good worth for the money from my pocket, or perhaps you believe a hay in the stables is appropriate service - in which case - maybe you should sleep there yourself.”

He had tried to stay collected, but judging by the reaction from the man, his face betrayed him anyway. Yusuf felt it too, his brows knitting in anger, and his teeth gritting together, the expression nearly forgotten now, so unfamiliar it made his cheeks hurt.

“Control your man, young master,” the host insisted, “As most in my place wouldn’t show him so much courtesy, and there are a lot of itching fists and clean swords around.”

It was a blink, a breath before Yusuf was about to retort and urge Nicolo to walk away, and then the front of the man’s shirt was gathered in Nicolo’s grip and his unpleasant pallid face was much closer than before, bloodshot eyes wide and wild.

“There is a clean sword right here, at my hip,” Nicolo said almost matter-of-factly, “So you should think twice before threatening a man who stepped over your threshold in good conscience, for he has more grace than any Christian in this town, and matters to me more than any reason you can think of to justify your prejudice or excuse your offense.”

The threat was what did it for the innkeeper, and his chin wobbled in fear. It was all the prompting he needed, and Yusuf touched Nicolo’s elbow gently, slowly guiding his hand away. The ease with which he let go catching Yusuf momentarily by surprise.

“Come, my friend,” he said in Arabic, just to spite the man. “We will find someplace better than this rumpled shack.” This he added in Italian, watching as the man’s eyes widened as the insult became clear. 

He was wise enough not to comment, though, as Yusuf led Nicolo away to the exit from the inn. With his fury drained from him, Nicolo seemed completely worn out, somber and faraway. He just opened his mouth to say something, catching Yusuf midword, when someone else interrupted them.

Yusuf recognised the man - one of the patrons from the inn - his body tensing immediately in instinctive response, as Nicolo did the same, his stance changing and his back straightening in expectation of trouble. The man was older but nonetheless imposing for the salt and pepper in his hair or his plain clothes - wide in the shoulders and strong-looking. 

“I do not mean you any harm,” he was quick to say, and there was softness in his voice, like he was trying his hardest not to appear as intimidating as he was.

A wise choice, Yusuf thought. He eyed the man warily still, his posture relaxing just in the slightest. The man must have taken this as an acknowledgement or an agreement not to kill him on sight, as he advanced to where they stood, near Hilal and Aftab, still keeping a safe distance between them.

”I heard of the misfortune with the innkeeper,” he started. “He is an old man set in his ways, as most here are... Allow me to show you that there remains kindness in his town and correct his ways. I can offer you a place to stay, for the night.”

It took both of them a minute for the offer to sink in, Yusuf shooting Nicolo a perplexed glance, just as his friend did the same. Their eyes locked in a moment of wordless communication, both of them too tired and disappointed to deny this man at least a chance. If it would prove a hoax to get them in even more trouble - well, they would at least have a reason to regret their gullibility…

“Aren’t you afraid to stir trouble by giving us lodgings?” Nicolo asked finally, “If Taranto is indeed as rigorous in its ways.”

“There is nothing else I hold dear that they can take,” the man said gruffly, honesty radiating off of him. He looked around, but not to see who might’ve been listening, but to show who he meant. “They would not kill Taranto's best blacksmith, so do not fret. There is a better side to this town - one unshadowed by war and judgement. Please, it’s this way.”

Yusuf looked at Nicolo, asking “Are you sure?” Under his breath.

Nicolo only shrugged, shaking his head as if to say ‘What better options do we have?’ He looked pained still, like there was some dull ache he was struggling to shake off ever since the innkeeper first opened his mouth, making Yusuf grimace and rub the side of his face, and nod his reluctant agreement with the sentiment at least. 

The blacksmith had led them across town, to a more secluded part of it, or perhaps just more out of the way. It housed several similar looking huts, all of the same shape and size. He showed them to a small shared stable and pointed at the nearest door. 

“This is my home, you can care for your horses and come find me there. No harm will come to you under my roof, I swear.”

It felt safe enough at least - the horses in the stables were well taken care of, although for some of them age was taking its toll, and through the thin clay walls Yusuf could hear children calling out to each other in loud excited voices. Aftab and Hilal didn’t seem too nervous either, which always helped set Yusuf at ease. It was Nicolo who bothered him still though, his quiet now familiar - a sign that he was trying to come to terms with turbulence of the world and his own feelings towards it - but nonetheless dejecting for its familiarity. 

Yusuf patted Aftab’s nose, the horse nibbling at his hand with fondness, and sighed. He had made quick work of removing the saddle and harness, ushering his tired mount into one of the stalls and showing him the trough. They were able to wait with food for now, as he turned around to look at his friend and found him still in his haze.

“Nicolo?” He called his name, and it took a few good moments before Yusuf got any sort of acknowledgement. It had spurred Nicolo into action in the end though, and he was taking Hilal’s saddle off and moving to take the harness off too, when Yusuf intervened and did it for him, Nicolo’s hands shaking too much for it to be an easy task. He was happy to see that the stall had been wide enough for two horses, and Hilal happily joined Aftab.

Yusuf turned to the man once more then, finding him just as he left him, and touched his hand to the side of Nicolo’s face, forcing him to look up. It seemed to be all the incentive he needed as words poured out of him in a torrent of hushed Arabic.

“I am so sorry for what you had to listen to in that inn. It was disgusting and unfair, and nobody should have to be made to hear things like that, not to mention you - and that man should had suffered much more than a reprimand for how he treated you-”

It was Yusuf’s touch again that made him break off, his thumb moving to brush over Nicolo’s lips in a distracted sort of way that had been equal parts unintentional and unavoidable. 

Yusuf marvelled at the instant effect it had on Nicolo; the man’s mouth falling close in a heartbeat, as he blinked a few times and inhaled deeply through the nose. He could have stayed in the moment forever, Yusuf thought, idly remembering his purpose...

”He is only another one of the lesser men,” Yusuf said, reflecting on his own words from Messina, “He means nothing, and neither are his words. You have prepared me well enough to endure this, and I doubt this would be the last time. I don’t want you to waste another breath apologising for what is beyond either of us,” He paused for a moment, taking in the anxious look on Nicolo’s face, and moved even closer, bringing his own lips to Nicolo’s forehead. “Please do not worry, my soul.”

Even as he pulled away, Nicolo still didn’t respond, his mouth opening and falling shut without a word coming out, while his eyes traced and inspected the planes of Yusuf’s face - his unsure smirk and his raised eyebrows. 

“My soul?” He breathed at last, his Arabic unsure and barely loud enough for even Yusuf to hear as close as he was, not yet recovered enough from the surprise to really smile, but almost.

Yusuf grinned. He had not meant to use the endearment outside of his head just yet, but he thought by now Nicolo must know, and despite this being a conversation probably needed to be held someplace other than a community stable on the outskirts of Taranto, he nodded and repeated the words in Italian, just so Nicolo would have no doubt what he meant. He offered no other explanation for a moment, needing to see if Nicolo would be able to come to terms with it on his own.

He looked as if something took on a life of its own in his mind and in his eyes, and for a moment it was as thought Yusuf could see future in those eyes - their future, another unspoken promise or simply a hope - the world not big enough to contain it, eons not long enough to wear it down. And then Nicolo blinked and was a man again - gentle and unsure, and with the weight of it all on his shoulders. 

“For all my thinking I know you in and out at last, you only keep taking my breath away,” he muttered, seemingly without hold on the words - a free reign of mind, “It’s as if I’m forever trying to catch up with you, but never quite can…”

Yusuf did not mean to laugh, but the sound came out anyways, combined with an exhale that shook his entire body. He smiled, holding Nicolo’s forearm with one hand and with the other pressing into the crook of his neck. Nicolo was everything he had ever wanted, everything he seemed to be waiting for all those long years alone.

Before Nicolo had a chance to misinterpret his humour, Yusuf replied. “You do know me, in and out - never had anyone known me as you, Nicolo,” he paused to search Nicolo’s eyes for understanding, and widened his smile when he found an overwhelming amount of trust and comprehension. “You take my breath with every look, every smile, every action, whether you mean to or not - you needn’t worry about catching up, as you are always my equal, in this or otherwise.”


End file.
